Mind Games and Coffee
by Solaras Inc
Summary: Brad comes to the realization that he may feel more for the german redhead than annoyance. He doesn't want to act of his feelings, but Schuldig being Schuldig makes that hard. BradxSchuldig
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine.

Author's notes: Hey everyone. I'm glad you decided to check out my story. This is the first Weiss Kreuz fic I have written. It is also the first yaoi fic. It will be a Brad and Schuldig story. Hopefully it will turn out ok. Enjoy

telepathy aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

Mind Games and Coffee

Chapter One – Breakfast

The sun filters softly through an open window, as the pale curtains sway lightly in the quiet morning hour. Only this early in the day is the four bedroom apartment so quiet. The continuously typing fingers currently clutch a pillow, the blasphemous mouth sucks absently on a blade between snores, and the German rock cds have been taped to the ceiling. The only sound to be heard is the brewing of a coffee pot. Only Brad Crawford is ever awake at 7:30 in the morning, unless a job requires otherwise. Today there is no reason for the assassin team known as Schwarz to be awake, so Crawford is allowed to enjoy the rare peace and quiet.

The clairvoyant closes his window, left open during the summer night, and leaves his bedroom. The only light in the hallway comes from his open door. The sun spills across the hall into the half open door of the resident telepath, Schuldig. As long as Crawford has known the German, Schuldig has never slept with his door closed. Speculation has led Crawford to believe it has something to do with the telepath's hatred of being alone. If the door is closed then he is shut in, alone, but if the door is open then his room connects to others or something like that.

When Crawford first started working with Mastermind, Schuldig confessed a dislike of solitude because then he was left with the swirling chaos in his head. The telepath sometimes becomes so lost within the voices, that he has to be knocked out with medication. An out of control 'gift' is not pleasant, especially when your mind is at stake. Also enclosed spaces probably bring back bad memories from the German's childhood. Schuldig was often locked in a closet by fearful parents before running away. He did God knows what to survive before being picked up by Rosenkreuz officials, who quickly found that solitary confinement was very effective against the defiant young telepath. Either way, somewhere along the years Crawford started leaving his door cracked. Schuldig seemed to sleep easier, which meant that Crawford got peace to sleep as well; all and all a practical arrangement in the clairvoyant's mind.

Now Brad Crawford stood in the early morning hour as the sun spilled upon the sprawled form of his teammate. Schuldig slept on his stomach with his long limbs stretched out in every direction, his face turned towards the door. Long fiery hair fell over closed eyes, and one overly long lock shifted with every soft breath. Every now and then he would mutter something in one language or another, obviously someone else's thoughts. Often the telepath would wake disoriented about his location, and sometimes speaking languages he had never studied. What concerned Crawford the most, though he would never admit it, was when Schuldig would wake confused about his identity. After about ten minutes Schuldig reorients himself, but Crawford wonders if one day Schuldig will succumb to his gift. He wouldn't be the first telepath to do so. So far there have been no visions to predict such a day.

Crawford moves on to the kitchen where his coffee lays waiting. A quick survey of the cabinet reveals only one clean mug, Schuldig's bright orange coffee mug with 'Chaos, panic, disorder…My job is done' written in bold yellow letters. Frowning slightly Crawford pulls his white mug from yesterday out of the dishwasher and rinses it out. As he pours his coffee he makes a note to have Nagi start the dishwasher after breakfast. Coffee in hand, Crawford sits down at the table, and picks up the newspaper. Soon Nagi will rise and start breakfast, after which he will unlock Farfarello's door, who may or may not come out for breakfast. Schuldig may be roused by the smell of food, or he may ignore it in favor of sleep, in which case he will sleep well past noon. Pausing in sipping his coffee, Brad sees that Schuldig will be up for breakfast, which means he will make himself a nuisance for a better part of the day.

About halfway through his paper, Crawford becomes aware of Nagi shuffling about. The boy arrives in the kitchen shortly after, nodding to Crawford before pulling out a frying pan. Soon the smell of sausages and eggs fills the kitchen and hallway, this as Brad predicted, is followed by a few loud Spanish exclamations about the price of figs. Apparently Schuldig's mind had wandered into a marketplace last night. Nagi looks up briefly at the commotion, while Brad continues to read the paper. The telekinetic is putting more sausage into the pan, when a rumpled Schuldig plops himself at the table, giving a loud yawn and thorough stretch to announce his presence. He runs his fingers through his hair trying to tame the wild mass.

"Hola, Buenos Dias," states Nagi before setting a plate in front of the telepath.

"Huh?"

Nagi just shakes his head at Schuldig's brilliant reply, then goes to fetch Farfarello. Schuldig shrugs then sniffs at his breakfast, before poking the eggs with his fork. At least the food was western for a change, the German was getting tired of miso soup, and he was pretty sure he was turning into a block of tofu. He looked up at Nagi's return and the madman following him. The Irish psychopath was fully dressed along with a few new bandages. Farfarello took his seat across from Schuldig and started maliciously slicing his sausage. Schuldig munched contently on his non-tofu breakfast and casually brushed against the minds nearby. A few complaints about bills, someone late for work, a small kitchen fire, Nagi thinking about Tot, Farf thinking about killing Tot, and Crawford's ever present shields. It annoyed Schuldig to no end that he couldn't read the clairvoyant. The redhead's fork scraped his plate, bringing him back to reality to realize he was out of food. He glanced at Crawford, still sipping his coffee and reading, occasionally reaching around to stab a piece of sausage with his fork; his plate still full.

"Don't even think about it," Crawford said while turning a page.

"But Brad, it's just going to get cold," Schuldig whined in return.

"No. You eat to much as it is."

Schuldig huffed and slouched in his seat. Farfarello after sufficiently mutilating his breakfast sat staring at the telepath.

"What?" the German asked.

"Gluttony hurts God."

"Yes, I'm sure if there is a God, he really cares how much I eat," sneered Schuldig, now busy balancing his chair on the back legs.

"You shouldn't do that," Brad offered in between sips of coffee.

"Like you really care if I have good posture," the redhead said waving off the comment. Crawford, now on the last page of the paper, folded it setting it beside his plate, so that he could finish reading and eat at the same time.

"All sins hurt God."

"Really Farf," drawled Schuldig, "I still don't think that the 'God' cares if I eat too much. He would probably be happy if I died of clogged arteries."

"God does not wish suffering, but your death would not hurt God."

"Nice to know, I'm sure. Nagi are you going to eat that sausage link?"

"Yes Schuldig," replied Nagi with a glare.

"Are you sure?" he asked again edging his fork towards the piece of meat.

"You can't have it."

"Come on, you still have anoth…."

He never got to finish, as Farfarello jumped out of his seat to lean across the table, slamming his knife down in front of him! The force of the blow shook the table and caused Schuldig to fall backwards, knocking his head on the tile. Farfarello's one golden eye glared down at the sprawled German.

"It is why I do not kill you, Guilty one." With that the Berserker pulled the knife from the table and stuck it between his teeth. He then retreated down the hall. Schuldig, from his place on the floor, stared after his teammate.

"Shit!" Schuldig laughed as he picked himself off the floor. After righting his chair he sat holding his head gingerly. "I should know by now not to make comments about God." He continued his nasal laughter as he left in search of pain killers. After loading the dishwasher, Nagi went to the refuge of his computer, leaving Crawford alone again in the kitchen.

"Nagi!" Schuldig yelled down the hall, "I want my cds back now!"

"You play them too loud!"

"Blasphemous music hurts God!"

"Nagi!"

"Do you even know what headphones are!"

"Music will fuel the hate, and God will cry!"

"You put them on the fuck'n ceiling!"

"Don't you have someone's life to screw up or something!"

"Why when I can just screw you!"

"Sodomy hurts God!"

Alone in the kitchen again, but Brad Crawford had anything but peace and quiet.

Well that's all for the first chapter. Hopefully I will get the next chapter out soon. I'm not sure how long this will be yet. Reviews are welcome and appreciated. See ya next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine, never was mine, and never will be mine. I just love the anime and I am expressing that.

Author's Notes: Ack! I forgot I was supposed to be reposting the story here. Oops! I think some people have found it other places, but I will put it back up anyway.

Review Responses: Oooo! New reviews!

**Nariel **– OMG! You're right! I am pretty sure you are the first person to point that out. How did I miss that?! I've had to have read chapter one a hundred times. Thank you! I have to go fix that now.

**Heaven Star** – Glad to be back, and to have you reading. My other account got closed, not for this story, but for another one I think. I'm not going to repost that one here, just incase. Anywho, the story is back. What was I up to here? Chapter six maybe? There are ten chapters completed so far, and more in the works.

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German words:

Großmutter - Grandmother

Arschloch - asshole

Ja - Yes

Chapter Two:

Brad Crawford sat alone in his study working on mission reports. Schwarz had been working for a Japanese tycoon by the name of Takatori Reiji for two months now. Estet had been keeping tabs on Takatori, and his increasing amount of political influence, for some time now. The leaders of Estet believed through Takatori they could gain greater power in the east, thus Schwarz had been sent to watch him. Crawford subtly led Takatori in the direction of Estet's interests, while the Japanese man believed he held power over the elite group.

Brad snorted at the idea of that fat giftless idiot in control of Schwarz. That waste of oxygen wasn't even aware of the full capabilities of the team. Takatori knew that Crawford was a precog, but unknown to Takatori, the clairvoyant rarely told him a fraction of what he really saw. Further he believed that Nagi was simply a hacker, albeit a gifted one, and that Schuldig and Farfarello where just skilled assassins. Crawford saw no reason to change these beliefs.

Pausing in his typing, Crawford removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He leaned back in his padded leather chair and stared at the files beside his computer. The top file had a picture of Takatori Reiji clipped to it, and the one immediately beneath it was a file on Schuldig.

"Takatori," he let the name roll distastefully off his tongue.

Brad pushed the top file aside and picked up the second one. Schuldig's was by far the thickest folder, as Crawford had been working with the telepath for quite a few years now. A copy of every mission report went into each Schwarz folder. Even without the mission reports the folder would still be rather large. Schuldig had a way of pissing off superiors. Inside the beige file was the German's whole life complete with every letter of misconduct.

Brad looked at the picture on the front. It was a recent photo, the picture being replaced once a year. Nagi had taken it. The representation was good, Brad supposed. Schuldig had that malicious glint in his blue eyes accompanied by that insufferable smirk. Opening the folder he took out last year's photo. It had been early in the morning when the picture was taken, and Schuldig had barely been awake. His hair had been free of that hideous yellow headband and fell into his tired eyes. A small smile, so unlike his usual smirk, graced his lips. This year's picture was good, but Brad preferred the other one.

Yes, Brad saw no reason to tell Takatori the true abilities of Schwarz. With orders to obey the Japanese pig, Crawford didn't have to be a precog to know how the swine would exploit Schuldig. That thought disturbed him in ways he didn't want to think about.

Deciding it was time for lunch Brad saved his work, stretched his cramped arms, and returned his glasses to their perch on his nose. The apartment had been quiet for about an hour now; odd since Schuldig was supposedly up and about. Hopefully no one needed medical assistance so early in the day. A study of the hallway produced no signs of life. To the right Schuldig's door was closed, thus he wasn't in there, and directly in front Nagi's was open, meaning the hacker was somewhere else as well. As for Farfarello, who knew where he would be. Deeming it safe to leave the sanctuary of his study, Crawford headed towards the kitchen.

The kitchen proved to be empty as well, but sounds drifted in from the living room. After fixing a turkey sandwich, Brad followed the noise to the room it emanated from. The noise turned out to be the television, which was turned to some anime or another. Brad neither knew nor cared what the program was about. If it wasn't the news, he wasn't interested, and even then he preferred to read the paper. What did catch his interest was a lanky redhead sprawled out on the couch. Schuldig laid on his back with one leg propped up on the back of the couch, and was clad in a yellow long sleeve shirt and red jogging shorts. Very short shorts in Brad's opinion, but then the German did have nice, long, and rather shapely legs, for a man. Upon that thought, Brad immediately focused on something else. Nagi sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table where a bowl of chips rested. Schuldig, every so often, reached around Nagi and stole a chip.

Seemingly ignoring the others, Brad walked in front of the TV, eliciting a few choice comments from a certain telepath, and sat down in his leather arm chair. Yes, his chair. The other inhabitants of the apartment knew better than sit in his chair. Schuldig on occasion had the gall to test Brad on this, but soon found himself dumped on the floor. Said German was currently trying to pilfer more chips, but Nagi kept moving the bowl. Crawford settled himself in his chair with his sandwich in his lap, and picked up a book he had left resting on the chair arm.

"Bah, this is so unrealistic," complained Schuldig gesturing to the anime, "these people are trying to kill him, and he won't kill them. It's so stupid. And that Saitou guy, who is the only intelligent character, should just fuck Kenshin and get it done with."

"They're not even gay. Why would they do that?"

"Nagi, Nagi, naïve Nagi. Kenshin is just to pretty for his own good; he was bound to have been fucked into the ground by one of those assassins he used to work with. And the whole rivalry with Saitou, can you say sexual tension?" replied Schuldig knowingly.

"But Saitou is married," argued Nagi.

"Just a cover, plus he probably needs an heir or something archaic like that. Trust me Nagi; these are two hot guys with obvious tension between them. They are totally doing it, right Brad?" Schuldig asked while arching his back to look at the questioned man upside down.

Crawford looked up from his book, and suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation. Schuldig still had one bare leg thrown over the back of the couch, and his upper body was arched most enticingly. His flaming hair spilled across the armrest, and those damn blue eyes glinted mischievously from their inverted position. Crawford, face blank, stared at the telepath.

"Stop filling the boy's head with nonsense," Crawford deadpanned then returned his gaze to his book.

"It's not nonsense," Schuldig huffed and let himself fall back on the sofa. "If I wanted to fill his head with nonsense, there are easier ways," he continued while wiggling his fingers at Nagi's head.

-Much easier ways-

"Stay out of my head Schuldig!" yelled Nagi.

-Make me-

"Afraid I will find out what you really do on the internet?" the German said out loud.

"Schuldig leave him alone," Brad said without looking up.

"It's not like we all don't know what he does," Schuldig said as he lifted himself off the couch. The telepath sauntered over to Crawford, stretching his arms over his head as he went, thus exposing a good section of his waist. Leaning against the back of the chair, Schuldig draped long arms around the clairvoyant. Crawford barely stiffened at the contact; the redhead was always pawing at him. The German was just such a touchy person, and he liked being the center of attention. He liked to touch and prod reminding people of his presence, and he liked wearing outlandish colors making sure everyone noticed him. Brad had gotten somewhat used to it over the years.

"I do nothing of the kind. I'm not a pervert like you," Nagi stated while returning his attention to the TV.

"Can't deny that," Schuldig smirked.

Crawford gave a snort and turned a page of his book. Schuldig leaned further over to look at the book bringing his chin to rest on Crawford's shoulder. Brad blew orange hair out of his face and pointedly stared at his book. If he reacted to the German's presence, Schuldig would never go away. The best option was to ignore him. Ignore the long arms wrapped around his shoulders, the smooth cheek pressed into the crook of his neck, the soft hair on his face, and the warm breath against his collar bone. Brad had now read the same sentence three times. Why, oh why couldn't the telepath stop invading his personal space?

"What are you reading?! I don't understand a word of it," complained Schuldig.

"It's a study of the French Revolution, in French," replied Brad calmly. The Oracle was quite proud of his ability to mask his emotions, and extremely glad the telepath couldn't breach his mental shields.

"I don't know any French," whined Schuldig.

"So," Brad said unconcerned.

"Read to me."

"No."

"Ja, you're no fun."

"I never claimed to be."

"You are all boring," announced Schuldig as he straighten himself, "I'm leaving and going somewhere I am appreciated."

"I told you to say close by today, for when Takatori calls," said Crawford as the telepath moved towards the door.

"Is he even going to call us today?" Schuldig whined and received a pointed stare from Brad. "Ok dumb question. But why should my social life suffer because that arschloch wants us at his beck and call?"

"Schuldig…"

"Relax Bradley, I'm just going downstairs to visit die Großmutter," and with that Schuldig was out the door before Crawford could protest.

'Grandmother', or Großmutter as Schuldig would say, was an old Japanese widow who lived one floor down. The woman's only son lived in America, so she rarely saw him. Apparently, according to Schuldig, the old lady and her offspring didn't get on well. Upon arriving at the apartment the telepath had done a sweep of every tenant's mind. He decided she was of interest because she was lonely and could cook, and Schuldig wanted someone to dote on him. So with a little mental pushing, the old woman welcomed Schuldig whole heartedly, and the German got all the attention he wanted. In a way the arrangement was a good thing; whenever Schuldig felt neglected he just went downstairs instead of bothering Crawford. On the other hand though, Crawford didn't think such close association was a good idea, even if it was with a half senile old lady. No horrible visions concerning the 'Grandmother' had come to the clairvoyant, thus Crawford indulged Schuldig. Besides 'Grandmother' seemed to make the redhead really happy, and as long as it didn't conflict with work, Brad didn't feel the need to take her away. Crawford wondered if he indulged Schuldig to much, then he remembered long bare legs and decided that the less Schuldig was around, the better for his sanity.

Yay! Another chapter done. Next time Schuldig visits Großmutter. Please feel free to review. It will be greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's notes: I think this story is going to be fairly long, so I'm trying to catch up with where I am in the story so far. So here comes a big update. And first up: here is chapter three ladies and gentlemen. A very interesting chapter in my opinion. I don't know where some of this came from. My hands just started typing and the rest of me just followed along. Everyone enjoy.

Review responses – YAY!

**Heaven Star** – Sorry I slacked off on getting the story posted. Life caught up with me. But at least I'm putting up more than one chapter. Oh and I cheat with the ß symbol. I copy and paste it

**Self Inflicted** – Aww thank you. I'm always astounded when anyone says my writing is good. It's only been in the last few years that I really got into writing, so it's still sinking in that I'm not completely worthless at it. :P

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German words:

Großmutter – grandmother

Ja – yes

Hallo – hello

Nein - no

Chapter Three:

Schuldig closed the apartment door behind him, and moved toward the elevator. Schwarz occupied the only apartment on the top floor, which gave them the privacy they needed. The Hijiama apartment complex was an upper class establishment with only two apartments on each of the seven floors, save the top. Once inside the elevator the telepath pressed the sixth floor button. The other residents got very disgruntled at Schuldig's usage of the elevator to travel between two floors, which was why he continued to do it; that and the lazy redhead didn't believe in stairs. Schuldig could hear a woman's thoughts on the next floor as she waited for the elevator. She was grumbling in her mind about the slow contraption, and how she just knew that it was that redheaded foreigner from upstairs.

There was a ding as the elevator stopped. The doors opened to reveal a young Japanese woman. Her attire suggested that she was going to work. Long dark hair was pulled neatly in a bun with only a few wisps flying free, while thin framed glasses were perched on her pert nose. A dark grey business jacket and skirt accompanied with a briefcase, clutched tight in one hand, completed the presentation. Her mind revealed she was a corporate lawyer. Schuldig gave her his patented smirk.

/I knew it!/ Schuldig's smirk grew as he read the woman's mind. He maneuvered himself out of the elevator letting his eyes wander, most obviously, over the woman's body.

/Did he just…? That little pervert! Why does he come down here anyway? He's probably trying to rip off that old lady next door. I wouldn't let him in my house no matter how cute he is./

Schuldig caught the last line of thought just as the elevator doors closed. As he walked down the hallway the telepath sent a few choice images to the young lady. Images of him holding the elevator and crushing her to the wall, as he whispered her name 'Akina'. His mouth ransacking hers as his fingers ran up her thighs, under her skirt, massaging against her underwear, delving into her moist opening. Schuldig sent Akina a mental picture of her bent over gripping the railing, while he roughly ripped off her underwear and slammed home into her.

The German laughed as her mind raced to figure out where the sudden onslaught of lust had come from. He leaned against the wall as he soaked up her confusion, anger, and unbridled lust. His mental fingers stroked her libido heightening her frustration. He could see Akina in his mind, leaning against the back of the elevator, clutching the front of her skirt right at the juncture of her thighs. Her mind was racing trying to decide if she could afford to be late to work, so that she could run back upstairs and solve her problem. Schuldig now dived into her psyche bringing up pleasing memories of a black vibrator. The woman unconsciously spread her legs ever so slightly. Schuldig could feel her desire coursing through him, and he fed it back to her in a loop. His mind caressed Akina's; fanning her need till it was like a living thing within her, demanding release.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. Mr. Ishiro, who's wife was on a business trip to China, entered through the doors. What no one but him knew, and unknown to him Schuldig, was that he lusted after the lawyer from the sixth floor. Akina looked up as Mr. Ishiro stepped on the elevator.

"Are you alright Miss?" asked Ishiro. The woman before him leaned heavily on the wall and her complexion was unnaturally flushed.

-Enticingly flushed,- whispered Schuldig in the man's mind.

Schuldig gave Akina another mental push, her arousal spiking. The woman gave a stifled cry and latched onto Ishiro, and kissed him hard; her body melding against the startled man. After a moment Ishiro responded grabbing any part of Akina he could. He wasn't quite sure if this was real or another fantasy. Before long the two had stumbled out of the elevator and into Mr. Ishiro's apartment.

Schuldig slowly detangled himself from Akina's and Ishiro's minds; carefully distinguishing between his emotions and theirs. With the exception for his own raging hard on, more due to Akina's arousal coursing through him than any attraction for the woman, he was quite amused with his actions. Akina would definitely be late for work and a very important meeting, and probably lose the account she has been working on for three weeks. Ishiro, although often indulging in fantasies of the lady lawyer, never intended to follow through with it. Now he was currently cheating on his wife of four years. Causing mayhem felt good.

Schuldig laughed and took a few deep breaths willing his body to calm down. He needed to think something un-arousing: that sickening sweet thing called Tot, Takatori, Takatori in a Speedo, Takatori fucking Tot. That did it. The German shuddered at the disturbing thought. Giving his head a shake to clear it, Schuldig continued down the hall to his destination, Großmutter's.

Die Großmutter lived at the end of the hall in a spacious two bedroom apartment. The second bedroom, once occupied by her son, was now a seldom used guest room. Upon reaching the door Schuldig gave it a quick rap. Soon enough the door opened to reveal a short and plump old woman. Hirota Midori came about mid chest on Schuldig and stood with a slight stoop. Salt and pepper hair was held in a bun by ornate chopsticks. Her face was fairly smooth indicating that she had never spent much time in the sun when she was young. Small hands with a strength that belied their frail appearance held the door open. Today she wore a long blue skirt and a cream blouse, but she was often known to wear a traditional kimono.

"Hallo, Großmutter."

"Ah, Schuldig come in, come in. I was just wondering if you would come see this old woman today," Midori said ushering the telepath in. "I was just about to have some tea. You go sit at the table and I will bring you some. Would you like some lunch? Of course you would. You need to eat more, you're much to skinny. Do they feed you upstairs?"

"Not as good as you do, Großmutter," answered Schuldig as he was lightly pushed into a chair at the table.

"I didn't think so," continued Midori while patting Schuldig on the head. "Growing boy like you needs lots of food. Now let's see what I can whip up. I believe there are still some of those Vienna sausages you like in the fridge. I'll just put them in a pan, and course there is plenty of rice, but you're tired of rice aren't you dear. How about carrots? I have a can of those. Yes, carrots are good for you and green beans too. Oh! And don't you know I bought a German cookbook the other day; you will have to pick out some things you like. I think there is a bit of cake left too. Would you like that honey?" asked 'Grandmother' looking over the door of the fridge.

"All of the above sounds good," replied a smiling Schuldig. Midori chuckled as she pulled things out of the fridge.

"It's good to see a boy with a good appetite. Too many people today obsessed with those flashy diets. It's all rubbish if you ask me. They can't possibly be healthy for you, if you ask me. You need meat on your bones if you want to live a long life. Just look at me. A lesson you could learn from," she stated, and emphasized her point by poking the German in the ribs as she walked by.

"Ja, Großmutter," Schuldig laughed.

"Here you drink your tea while I fix lunch," said the old woman while placing a steaming cup in front of the telepath.

"What no beer?" Schuldig asked mischievously, and receiving a thump on the head in return.

"That stuff will rot your stomach. Tea is good for you. Now where did I put that frying pan?"

"It's in the bottom cabinet Großmutter."

"Ah, so it is. You're like my extra memory Schuldig; always knowing what I forget. Such a good boy."

Schuldig laughed to himself and sipped his tea. Midori continued fixing lunch and babbling about this and that. The woman could go on talking for ever. The noise was comforting. It helped to ground him and keep his mind in one place. She also tended to say what ever was on her mind, thus the telepath didn't bother reading her mind very often. Schuldig was extremely happy that Midori had taken his mental suggestion to take up German cooking. He picked up the new cookbook and flipped through the contents, he doggy-eared a page hear and there.

Großmutter had been an interesting find for Schuldig. It hadn't taken much work on his part to have Midori doting on him. She was a caring person, and naturally wanted someone to take care of. She wanted to feel needed, and with her son so far away, she just didn't feel useful. It was a situation that the Schwarz assassin intended to take full advantage of. All Schuldig had to do was convince her mind, that he was the person she wanted to take care of. After about a week of familiarity her own mothering instincts had kicked in, and Schuldig didn't have to manipulate her mind at all, unless she asked unwanted questions.

The telepath wasn't as flaky, as Crawford liked to accuse, all the time; he knew his job. Großmutter knew that he worked for the politician Takatori. Any idiot could know that with how much time Schwarz spent at Takatori's office, not to mention the public addresses made by Takatori with Schwarz in the background. Of course that was all the old woman knew, and the telepath made sure she didn't feel the need to pry for anymore information. Of course if worse came to worse, Schuldig could always make her forget she ever knew him.

"Here you go," Midori said as she put several plates in front of the redhead: one plate full of sausages, a second with vegetables, and a third with a big piece of chocolate cake. "Eat up and don't you leave one bite. We need to put some meat on those bones."

"Are you trying to turn me into a sumo wrestler, Großmutter?"

"Well you won't see them starving to death, and they don't waste good food."

"That's because they don't ever leave the table," laughed Schuldig between bites.

"True," chuckled Midori, "but girls like sumo wrestlers."

"If they are famous and win, not because of their weight," he countered, "besides I think I'm quite handsome as is." He gave his hair a toss to emphasize his point.

"Yes, yes you'd be quite a catch."

"Exactly," said Schuldig triumphantly.

"If you fatten up a bit," Midori said laughing at the redhead's sulking expression. "So when are you going to bring a nice girl over for me to meet," she said with a conniving gleam in her eyes. "There is a young lady who lives next door to me. A lawyer I believe." Schuldig couldn't help but snicker just a bit.

"Nein, I don't think so Großmutter. I think she might be too high maintenance for me," said the German then taking another bite of sausage.

"Well I suppose you might prefer a tall American anyway," was the nonchalant reply. Schuldig promptly choked on his food, and sat there pounding himself on the chest.

"Wh…what?!" he stuttered, "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Come now, I may be old, but I'm not blind. And I don't mind one bit if you prefer men."

"Großmutter!"

"Well I don't. I'm in with these new times. What is it they say…? I'm hip to it, man."

Schuldig was beginning to think he should keep a closer eye on what goes through the old woman's thoughts. He wasn't often surprised by what came out of people's mouths, but this was definitely one of those rare times. Maybe what Crawford said about her being senile wasn't entirely untrue. At the moment he wasn't sure what shocked him more: her attempt at modern lingo, that she wouldn't mind if he were gay, or that she thought he was interested in Crawford. The anal retentive, 'I'm a precog now do what I say', Crawford. Sure he was good looking, hell he could be down right sexy, especially when he got that menacing glint in his eyes, but he was Crawford. Crawford was the person always telling him to shut up and definitely under appreciated him.

"Nein Großmutter, I think you're hallucinating."

"Say what you like, but I've been around a long time boy, and I know these things," replied Midori with a nod. "I've seen the way you act when he comes down here to get you. You positively light up, and almost immediately you are touching him in some way. You gravitate to where ever he is in the room. That time I got him to stay for tea; you were beside him the whole evening."

"I paw at everyone. I'm a friendly person," huffed an irritated Schuldig.

"You're not as affectionate with the small one. What's his name? Oh yes, Nagi. You joke and pick at him, but it's not the same. You lack a certain warmth when the American isn't around."

"There is nothing of the sort," the telepath snapped. Schuldig was ready to just wipe these thoughts from the woman's mind, so he wouldn't have to hear this foolishness anymore.

"You can fool yourself all you want, but you can't fool me. There is something cold inside you Schuldig, something I can't melt. I see it in your eyes. It's there even when you smile. Your smiles don't ever reach your eyes, but when you smile at him they do seem brighter," she paused to reach over and grab the German's hand. His face was set in stone and his eyes wild. He did not like this conversation at all. "I think Brad Crawford could be good for you."

"You don't know what you're talking about old woman."

"Don't old woman me, besides I think he's rather fond of you too," she said with a smirk. The telepath couldn't quite stamp out his renewed interest in the conversation.

"Brad isn't _fond _of anyone. He's a cold, calculating, and thoroughly selfish man, which by the why I don't like in the slightest," Schuldig stressed and gave into pointing his finger in emphasis.

"Look who's talking," chuckled Midori, "you my dear are spoiled rotten. And don't think I can't see that conniving streak you have. You were sure to have been a fox in a past life. You both deserve each other."

"I wouldn't know what to do with him," sighed Schuldig in frustration.

"Don't tell me I have to have _that_ discussion with you!"

"Großmutter!" Schuldig feigned being scandalized.

"Well at least that got you back in good humor. At least admit he's attractive. Hell if I was 60 years younger I would be all over him. You'd see your 'Großmutter' bopping around in her little black dress, yes surrey!" Midori sat pretending to primp, and Schuldig couldn't help the laughter that followed.

"Ja, ja Brad is attractive."

"Brad is it. On familiar terms are we."

"Now don't get any ideas, I've worked with him a long time that's all."

"And you wouldn't mind spending time in the dark with him hmm?"

"Großmutter…" Schuldig released another suffering sigh and then gave a sly smile, "well I can't say it would be a terrible experience."

"Trust me boy, this old woman knows things. It may take some time for that stubborn man upstairs to crack, but if you just chip away a little here and there, I think you will find I'm right."

"I'm sure I'll just find an anal retentive bastard."

"Watch your language," Midori replied with an echoing thump.

"Ouch!" Schuldig yelped rubbing the top of his head.

"You shouldn't be mean to me; I could be in the middle of a heart breaking romance and not even know it," sniffed the telepath pitifully.

"Oh hush up and drink you tea, its good for you."

"Yes ma'am."

"And Brad?" inquired Midori.

"What about him?" said Schuldig in a bored tone.

"What are you going to do about him?" came the exasperated response.

"What else can I do with a block of ice, but chip at it," the redhead said with a delightful smirk.

Schuldig left the apartment shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the door with his hand still on the knob. His other hand ran through his untamable hair. Long pale fingers untangled the strands as they glided through the reddish-orange mane. Brad had projected his thoughts out to the telepath stating they would leave for Takatori's in an hour, and as Schuldig could very well take that long to get ready, Crawford had told him to get back upstairs. More like ordered with threat of pain should the redhead make them late. Schuldig stared down the hall to see a disheveled Akina sneaking back into her apartment. She looked up to see him standing there, and blushed furiously before quickly shuffling through the door. He didn't feel like messing with her mind anymore today. He had a much better victim to play with, or should he say tie up possibly to a bed or coffee table, which ever came first.

Well that is all for this chapter. What do you think? I've got a lot of ideas for this story. As always reviews are welcome and appreciated. See ya next time.

Solaras


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author Notes: I read a bunch of Farfarello fics while writing this and the influence is noticeable. I just had to play with him a bit. Not sure where some of this chapter came from. I started it and then just went off on all these tangents. I would go back and read and be like where in the world did this come from. But I got it together and here it is chapter four.

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German Words:

Verdammt – Dammit

Mein Gott – My God

Chapter Four:

The meeting with Takatori was not going well, at least for a certain redhead. Schuldig was seething. The politician was attending a business dinner with several other lofty individuals, and had wanted Schwarz there as a show of power. Takatori fully enjoyed flaunting his new 'toys'. As beneath them as the whole task was, the little dinner party wasn't what had Schuldig so livid. He was used to boring bodyguard duty. It was Takatori's thoughts that were riling the telepath.

-He's doing it again,- snapped the irate German.

-Just ignore it,- replied Crawford sternly.

-How am I supposed to do that? I am supposed to be keeping an eye on his thoughts, am I not?- Schuldig hissed through the mental bond.

On the outside the assassins looked calm, if not bored. Crawford stood respectfully behind Takatori's chair, but not so close as to appear looming. The light glinted off his glasses concealing his eyes from those at the table. Schuldig slouched on the window seal directly across from the American, smoking a cigarette. The evening sunlight created a fiery halo around his head. Nagi sat in the far corner of the private dinning area furiously typing away on his laptop. Farfarello leaned against the wall beside the hacker, admiring the way Schuldig could pass for a fallen angel. He puzzled over whether the comparison alone could hurt God. Schuldig's existence surely had to hurt God, as did the rest of Schwarz. Maybe if Estet found the key to immortality, and Schwarz stole it, God would just curl up and die. From there Farfarello's thoughts continued to circle around how to desecrate the great liar. As for Takatori, he sat at a round table with five other influential people, completely oblivious to the mental conversation going on.

-Just focus on anything useful to us,- sighed Crawford to the telepath.

-You know that's not how it works,- Schuldig growled mentally, -whatever he is actively thinking I'm going to pick up by default.-

-We won't be here much longer.-

-Can't I kill him?- pleaded the telepath.

-No.-

-Can I at least go throw up.-

-Schuldig…- Brad gave a long suffering sigh.

-Hey, you're not the one who has to deal with this! Shall I send some of the mental pictures to you! Verdammt! At least let me wrench these ideas out of his head,-Schuldig finally pleaded. -Mien Gott, I don't even think I bend that way!-

From the moment Takatori had laid eyes on the German, he had more than business in mind. The Japanese tycoon enjoyed beautiful things, and most of all he enjoyed having power over beautiful things. In his mind Schwarz were his property, and Schuldig was icing on the cake. Takatori wasn't paying much attention to the conversation of the table, but instead he was covertly staring at the redhead across from him. The sunlight had turned that lovely mane into molten lava that cascaded around his face and over his shoulders. That same light played across elegant features: piecing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and soft supple lips. Even beneath that hideous green coat, the politician could discern the slender and lithe frame. Takatori had so far been reluctant to proposition the assassin, as he was unsure of the German's true strength, but Estet had said he had full control of the group. It was only a matter of time.

Oh, the things he would do to the pretty redhead. Perhaps tie those slender wrists with silken ropes, and lay him among black satin sheets. Throw those impossibly long legs over his shoulders and fold him practically in half. Maybe the politician would just send the other teammates out of the office and take the German bent over the desk. Stroking the pale flesh till he screamed. Would he scream? Would he cry out? Would he moan like a wanton whore? Takatori had heard the redhead was somewhat of a slut, that he went out to clubs and bars and didn't come home till the next day. Takatori didn't mind that, he would teach the German who owned him.

-Brad that's it! I'm killing him! Own me indeed. Like I would submit to such a weak mind,- Schuldig yelled into Crawford's mind.

-Calm yourself Mastermind! You can not kill our employer,- said Crawford more forcefully than intended before regaining his mental composure. -Don't worry it's not going to happen.-

-How can you be sure?- argued the enraged telepath. -It wouldn't be the first time those Estet bastards have used the bedroom to gain an advantage. It wouldn't be the first time they've…-

-There is a difference this time Schuldig.-

-What?- sneered Schuldig.

-You are a part of Schwarz and we take care of our own. Remember Schuldig one day Estet will fall before us.-

-And until then who will keep Takatori at bay? As long as we are playing the nice lapdogs for Estet, I'm not allowed to fuck up his mind, or at least until he's of no further use to them.-

-I'm not going to let anything happen to our team.- Schuldig barely caught the 'you' before the thought was drawn behind the clairvoyant's shields. -Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?- Crawford sought out Schuldig's eyes, locking their gaze.

-No,- came the mental whisper as the German broke eye contact. -You always take care of me,- he said with a sigh, -be careful Brad, I might just think you care.- Schuldig's reply was colored with a smirk.

Crawford almost gave a physical snort and not just a mental one, but the telepath had a point. He always took it upon himself to look after Schuldig. When ever the redhead had a mental breakdown, and his shields were broken, Crawford put him back together. It wasn't that he just forced medication down the delirious German's throat either. He sat with the telepath, and strained his own mental barriers to protect Schuldig's helpless mind from the thoughts of the world.

When they had first met, Schuldig had still been fighting against the voices. Crawford had forced him to clean himself up and get stronger; he had foreseen the power the scrawny boy could wield. Once the little redhead had gone through withdrawal from various drugs, and had started eating again, Crawford had been amazed at Schuldig's appetite. At first the boy had been quiet and wary of the strange American, but soon he began to appreciate the company; his natural desire for attention coming through. He was intelligent in a crafty way, and life had left a malicious edge to his personality. Schuldig would be perfect for Crawford's plans.

The clairvoyant didn't worry about Schuldig hurting Takatori, yet. The telepath was loyal to Crawford, or at least to the plan for Estet's destruction, as were all of Schwarz. Brad had selected the other three assassins specifically to help him escape from the iron hold: Schuldig for his flippant disregard for authority, Farfarello for his destructive personality, Nagi for his intellect and disillusioned view of the world, and all of them for their potential for power.

Crawford would not give Takatori the opportunity to get to Schuldig. He would not allow the disruption of Schwarz. He would not allow anyone to disturb his vision of the future. Schwarz was his, Schuldig was his, and no one would interfere with this.

"Well gentlemen it is time I depart. I have a few more affairs to deal with before I call it a day," said Takatori. Brad was pulled out of his reverie by the scraping of the old man's chair.

"Ah yes, the time certainly has gotten on," announced one of Takatori's constituents also rising from the table.

As the businessmen said their goodbyes, Schwarz prepared to leave. Schuldig preformed a mental scan of the area, searching for possible threats, not that they expected any. After assuring the area was safe, the telepath gave a slight nod to Crawford, who then signaled Nagi and Farfarello to move. When Takatori made for the door the assassins fell in step with him. They exited the building with Crawford and Schuldig walking on either side of their employer, Nagi and Farfarello trailing a few steps behind. Schwarz stood as a human barrier on either side of the door, as Takatori got into his sleek black limo, and then entered themselves. Schuldig made sure to positioned himself so that, Crawford sat between him and the ambitious businessman.

The ride was not very long. Soon the Takatori building was looming over the limo. The imposing glass and steel construction no longer impressed the members of Schwarz, if it ever had. Upon seeing the building Brad was often reminded of Schuldig's first scathing remarks about Takatori's need for compensation.

Once outside the car, Takatori rushed up the steps, already on the cell phone with his secretary. At Crawford's more relaxed pace, Schwarz hung back. The Oracle seemed to stare off into space for a moment, a slight crease forming on his forehead. His return to the present was signaled by the removal of his glasses.

"Takatori will not need us for the remainder of the day," stated Crawford while cleaning his glasses, which Schwarz knew was a habitual cover, allowing time for his vision to adjust after an unexpected vision. "Schuldig, go with Farfarello and get the car. Nagi, you will come with me for the official dismissal."

"Why do I have to get the car," whined Schuldig.

"Because I said so, now go do it, and keep an eye on Farfarello. Nagi and I shouldn't be but a few minutes," Brad replied as he returned the thin frames to his face. He then started towards the entrance with Nagi trailing behind him.

"Feh, do I look like a chauffeur," scoffed Schuldig.

"No," replied Farfarello.

"Thank you," huffed the irate redhead.

"You look like a German slut. Chauffeur would be a complement," stated the madman while his golden gaze followed a group of school children.

"Least I don't look like I belong in an asylum."

"May not look, but doesn't mean you don't belong," Farfarello said as he slid a hand inside his vest; his pale fingers playing over the edge of a knife.

Schuldig followed the one eyed gaze to the children on the other side of the street. They were dressed in matching uniforms with shiny crosses around their necks. A Catholic school group perhaps, on their way to an evening mass. Girls in plaid skirts and knee socks skipped up the sidewalk with pony tails swinging, and gossiping about the boys in long shorts trailing behind them. Farfarello's cat-like eye followed a young Japanese girl near the front. Her long glossy hair was swept up into pigtails, and her dark eyes were squinted in laughter. A leather bound Bible was clutched to her chest.

/Death God Hurt Blood/

The Irishman's thoughts flowed through Schuldig. Farfarello's mind was like a hurricane, a red hurricane. A whirling chaos of destruction, all centering around one focal point: God. As insane as the Irishman could be, he could be just as lucid and focused. The man was extremely intelligent, but undeniably broken. Through Farfarello, Schuldig could see the schoolgirl, not as she was laughing with her friends, but as the madman would recreate her. For that is what he would do. He would take of God's creation and twist it into his. He would lay her upon a canvas of brick and stone, and then paint with her blood. He would strip the flesh from bone, and mold of the gore a gift for his God.

The telepath could easily be swept away by the strong mind beside him. He could follow in Farfarello's wake and not distinguish between whose hands did the carving. He could gorge himself on death while drenching himself in life's blood. For a moment even the jaded Schuldig could believe in a 'God Almighty'. From somewhere outside of the swirling chaos came the brush of shields stronger than the German's could ever be. Schuldig gave his mind a good mental shake.

"Damn precog," he muttered, "Oi, Farfarello!" said Schuldig snapping his fingers in front of the Berserker, "No." A single golden eye swiveled to pinpoint the interruption.

"The loss of a sheep so young will hurt Him. The pain will rip apart his heart, and He will know that I still hear Him, that I still hunt Him."

"Not now, we have to get the car. I'm sure Brad will let you go out later…" Schuldig stopped his retort as Farfarello turned to face him fully. Piercing gold met blue.

"I want to hurt Him now. I know that you were in here," the Irishman said placing two fingers on his right temple. "You saw, you know. You can see the red like I do. You can feel the hunger that I do. You, who hear like God, help me bring the liar pain."

Schuldig hated being the only one around when Farfarello got like this. When his hatred for God clouded his judgment and took forefront in his thoughts. The need to cause God pain had to be purged. Farfarello hadn't gotten the chance to kill anyone recently, and was sorely overdue. The telepath was only too aware, at times like these, how much physically stronger the Irishman was. Schuldig may have a slight height advantage, but he was willowy and built for speed, where as Farfarello was built like a predator. Since the psychopath didn't feel pain, nothing short of Schuldig frying his brain would slow him down either.

"There are too many witnesses. Later, you can hunt later," Schuldig spoke evenly with a relaxed expression. Farfarello would jump all over any sign of weakness. The German let his mind rest gently against the madman's, exuding a sense of calm.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing Guilty one," Farfarello hissed and took a step closer to the redhead. "I can feel you in my head."

Schuldig knew Farfarello was telling the truth. For some reason the telepath could never hide his presence from the Irishman. Maybe it was in the way Farfarello's mind worked. The man didn't feel pain after all; something was wired wrong up there. But Schuldig would bet everything he owned that the knife wielding assassin had some sort of twisted version of a talent.

"Knowing and stopping are to different things," Schuldig smirked, "There are other ways to cause pain. Make God wait. Make him suffer the agony of not knowing when or who. He will twist and writhe on His throne while you string Him along."

"You just don't want Crawford to yell at you," chided Farfarello.

"There are better things to argue about than you, Farfie. But you have to admit my idea has promise. After all I am a master of games. Play games with God, Farfarello. Play as the cat does with the mouse."

"The cat will kill the mouse," whispered the Irishman.

"Yes, and he will have fun doing it."

"Then I will be the cat, and corrupt another of God's creatures."

"I'm sure He cringes even now," Schuldig grinned.

The Irishman gave a nod and turned his back to the flock of young sheep. Schuldig gave a mental sigh of relief that he would not have to pull out the plastic seat covers. He glanced again at the girl who had almost become Farfarello's masterpiece.

"Games with God. Would such an all powerful being even care about such an insignificant creature?" sneered Schuldig.

"God cares because she believes the lies He tells," Farfarello said once more at the telepath's side.

"Such pretty thoughts…" said Schuldig softly, his eyes glazing slightly.

/Red/

"You hurt God Schuldig."

"Do I now?"

"God doesn't like that you hear as He does. God doesn't like that the Guilty one possesses His gift."

"Perhaps I should let your 'God' know that I don't like him either."

Across the street the children screamed. A nice red stain would mark the sidewalk and a nice uniform would be ruined. Glossy black pigtails would not sway in the ground. Doctors would say it was a violent aneurism. Schuldig, Farfarello, and his 'God' would know better.

"Shall we get the car?" stated Schuldig indifferently.

"God cries."

"Why, it's not that bad of a car, although, Brad could have at least gotten a less boring color. Who wants a beige car?"

"I thought you said later."

"Red now that's a color for a car," Schuldig rambled as he started for the parking garage.

"I like red," agreed Farfarello.

-I know- came the nasal reply in the Irishman's mind. -Sometimes I like it just as much, but I might not later.-

The two assassins pulled the beige BMW around the front of the Takatori building just as Crawford and Nagi came out the door. This was no surprise to either of the occupants of the vehicle, as of course, Brad Crawford always had good timing. The man was never late or early; he arrived at the moment of best opportunity. That was the benefit of being such a powerful clairvoyant: the ability to see the future's endless possibilities and choose the best one.

For Brad the sight of police and an ambulance across the street was no surprise, thus he did not bother to spare it a moment's glance. He had traced the path of choices and events to this outcome. He had set the stage for the girl's death by having Schuldig stay outside with Farfarello. It was the only acceptable outcome, at least for Schwarz, and that was what mattered. Everything had worked out according to vision. Farfarello had gotten to hurt God, though indirectly. Schuldig was away from Takatori, and otherwise occupied, while Crawford would be able to tell the tycoon that Farfarello would be unstable, thus Schuldig was watching him.

Had all four assassins entered the building, Takatori would have initiated his plan of seeing Schuldig alone. Such a turn of events would only end badly, perhaps even bloody, if certain choices were made. The German was too much of a wild card to predict the end of this future. Brad did not like to take risks with uncertain variables. His stomach churned at the thought of the Japanese pig touching Schuldig. He would even admit, to himself, that the idea infuriated him. Had he always been possessive of the redhead? Brad couldn't say. But one thing was for sure, if the telepath didn't stop lounging around in shorts, Brad would never get any work done. The clairvoyant really didn't need the distraction.

Yay! Another chapter down. Like I said I don't know where some of this came from, but I think it turned out ok. Next chapter will have lots more of Schuldig flirting. See ya next time and as always reviews are greatly appreciated.

Solaras


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's Notes: Let's keep rolling.

telepathy aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German words:

Verdammt – Damnit

Geh zum Teufel – Go to hell

Chapter five:

It was late when Brad emerged from his study. He had finally finished typing and submitting the necessary files to Estet, thus he deserved a midnight snack, or in his case a two in the morning snack. He sat at the kitchen table, staring listlessly at the toaster, waiting for his bagel to pop up. Toasters always seemed to take forever. The timer could be set on light or very dark and still seem to take the same amount of time. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Brad had his bagel smothered with a generous amount of cream cheese.

Having intended to retire for the evening after his snack, Brad only bothered to cut on the light over the sink, hence the kitchen was cast in a soft half light. The rest of the apartment was quiet. The noise of the street had died down long ago with the proper businessmen tucked in their beds and the drunks passed out in alleyways. Farfarello was locked in his room, though he could extract himself if he truly wished, but it was a comforting farce of security. Around midnight Brad, on route to the coffee pot, had found the T.V. on with Nagi asleep in front of it. Through protest the boy had been sent to bed. Nagi had been waiting for Schuldig to come home. He, not having Brad's safety in knowing the future, worried about the flighty redhead.

After returning home from seeing to Takatori, Schuldig had promptly gone back out. Brad didn't need his clairvoyance to know that Schuldig would be at a club. The telepath would drown in the drunken thoughts of others, and for a moment, he would forget about Takatori and Estet. If Schuldig came home tonight it would probably be soon. Brad could feel the visions running through his subconscious creeping around his conscious mind, a numb fuzzy feeling, like one two many drinks. Flashes of orange hair and blue eyes, Schuldig, filtered into his view. He clamped down on the feeling, not wanting to _see_ anything. His head already hurt from staring to long at a computer screen. Visions where someone died where always tainted a strange sort of reddish purple color, thus he knew the German would be alright, and he didn't need to check his visions. Subconsciously he saw them all, and in sleep he did not dream, but saw random visions. If it was something important about tomorrow, Brad would _see_ it again.

Half way into the bagel, Schuldig came staggering through the front door, smelling of cheap liquor, smoke, and even cheaper perfume. The German was more than a little drunk. He made his way to the kitchen, and found the clairvoyant where the buffer of mental shields marked his presence. Brad couldn't help his wandering eyes, as Schuldig leaned against the counter next to him. The telepaths black leather pants hung low on the hips, and left nothing to the imagination. The tight emerald green shirt stopped at the midriff exposing a section of smooth pale skin. The redhead was all sex and sin, and his blue eyes glinted mischievously in the partial light.

"I take it you enjoyed yourself," Brad said blandly returning his attention to his snack.

"More than you," replied a smirking Schuldig. His own eyes raked over the man before him.

"Who did you whore yourself to this time?"

"Jealous Brad," Schuldig whispered in the American's ear.

Crawford turned his head, surprised, he hadn't noticed the other man moving. Schuldig liked to use his unnatural speed to gain the upper hand and startle the precog as often as possible. Crawford was now face to face with the smirking German. Schuldig's deep ocean eyes stared relentlessly into Brad's honey brown ones. The redhead's warm breath coasted over the precog's face, fogging his glasses.

"Jealous of what, a German slut, not likely," Brad said turning away from the mischievous smirk.

He took off his steamed glasses and reached for a napkin, intent on wiping them off. A brief rush of air was all the warning he got of Schuldig's, faster than the human eye, movements. He dropped both items on the table as leather clad legs wrapped around his waist. The redhead had swiftly planted himself firmly in Crawford's lap, and then proceeded in pressing down in just the right places. Long pale arms wrapped around his neck and brought the telepath's face close enough for Crawford to make out clearly. Schuldig's smirk widened at the wide brown eyes in front of him; he would not be ignored.

"Oh, I think you are," Schuldig said huskily.

"What do you think you are doing," snapped a flustered Crawford.

"I'm chipping away at the ice," the telepath snickered.

"Get off me. You're drunk."

"True," breathed Schuldig against the pale skin of Crawford's throat, "but if I was sober I wouldn't be so crass or mmm horny."

"You are always 'crass' and you think of nothing but sex," snapped Crawford as he tried to shift away from the clingy redhead. Schuldig only held on tighter and dipped his head to run his tongue along the column of Brad's neck.

"Not with you," stated the inebriated German as he continued to assault the expanse of skin before him.

"What?!" yelped Brad as Schuldig nipped his earlobe.

"You are always so cold to me, so I don't waste my time."

"Why stop now, I'm sure you could have found entertainment a plenty at whatever brothel you went to."

"So harsh, but I don't think that's what you really want Brad." The name was more a moan than a word.

"I said get off…" Crawford choked and had to bite back his own moan as Schuldig rocked his hips.

Brad gripped the edge of the table, while Schuldig continued to move against him. How could he have not foreseen this?! Damn unpredictable German. The redhead pressed his weight knowingly down on the American's groin. The layers of fabric between them only added to the delicious friction. Schuldig brought his hands up to burry them in silky black hair, and he rested his forehead against the pinned man's.

"You can't tell me you don't want me," breathed Schuldig, "I can _feel_ the proof that you do."

Brad couldn't control his traitorous body's reaction, and his mind wouldn't think rationally with a lap full of writhing German. Schuldig thrust hard against him causing the chair scrape back against the floor. Brad lost his grip on the table and instinctively latched on to Schuldig's hips. His hands glided across the smooth leather to cup a firm ass. The redhead moaned and Crawford pulled him down hard. While Schuldig gasped, Brad grabbed a fistful of red hair and crushed their lips together. His tongue immediately invaded the surprised German's mouth. Schuldig wasn't sure when he had lost control of the game, but didn't complain as he fought for dominance.

Schuldig was just as skilled as Crawford thought he would be. The redhead's tongue rubbed provokingly against his own, as Brad continued to rape the warm sweet mouth. The German tasted of vodka and limes, but beyond that was something spicy the precog didn't care at the time to identify. Hands were running down his back and into his pants pulling his dress shirt loose. His own hand caressed up the redhead's back, which instantly arched, and back down to rest on the front of tight leather pants. Schuldig moaned into the heated kiss as he was massaged through the restrictive material. Crawford wanted to rip those damned pants off, so that he could mimic with other parts, the rapture his tongue was already in. Schuldig was warm, soft, and oh so inviting.

So enraptured was he in the present, Crawford's mind relaxed its hold on visions of the future. Takatori, Estet, Weiss…swimming, falling…swirling in sickly purple. Somebody was dieing, somebody was screaming… Takatori reaching for red hair; he's dead, he's alive. A girl… Aya… Ran… the floor will break. And the image taints the horrible color of bruised flesh. In an instant Crawford had foreseen visions from a hundred possible futures. In an instant Crawford remembered what he had to do.

Schuldig was in heaven. Crawford was hard against him and blessedly silent. Being this close to the clairvoyant and his impenetrable shields dampened the voices. He was free to focus on the blissful feel of strong hands on him. Just as the telepath surrendered to the fierce exploration of his mouth, he found himself falling hard to the floor! Crawford had stood quickly, dislodging the dazed redhead. He stood straightening his clothes and retrieving his glasses, while Schuldig rubbed his abused behind and glared from the floor.

"Verdammt! What did you do that for!" yelled Schuldig.

"I told you to get off me, didn't I," said Crawford calmly, appearing once again in control. "Go whore yourself elsewhere Schuldig, I have work to do." With that the clairvoyant turned his back on the sputtering German and left the room.

"Geh zum Teufel!" Schuldig screamed after Crawford. "Bastard."

The redhead picked himself off the floor and brushed off his pants, which were now uncomfortably tight. He glared viciously at the spot his denied conquest had stood. He couldn't quite grasp what had happened. Never before had he wished so hard for a glimpse into the American's mind. Brad had clearly been enthusiastic one moment, and then he went back to being a cold bastard. Schuldig sighed and seated himself in Crawford's abandoned chair. He looked at the forgotten bagel and smirked.

"You never said you didn't want me," Schuldig laughed to himself.

He finished off the bagel and went to his room. He smelled like a keg party, but a shower could wait till tomorrow. He was tired, unsatisfied, but tired. A good night's sleep would help in his planning to make Crawford crumble. Perhaps a different approach was necessary. Leaving his bedroom door open, Schuldig changed into a pair of boxers and fell into bed.

Across the hall Brad was occupied with a very cold shower. He spent the time cursing his own lack of sight, redheaded Germans, and the urge to finish himself what Schuldig started. He didn't need this. He was planning the downfall of Estet, who would kill them if he screwed up. He had to stay focused. All that mattered was his freedom from Estet. But then why couldn't he stop thinking of the redhead. Even under the freezing spray of the shower, his cock twitched at the thought of Schuldig writhing in his lap. The memory of those leather incased thighs pressed against his sides, while the telepath's cock rubbed against his own, was driving him mad. For the first time since he was sixteen, Crawford considered jerking off in the shower.

Slamming his fist against the tiled wall, Brad turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He put on a pair of pajama pants and roughly toweled his hair. He sent burning glares towards his closed door, across from which was the object of his anger and frustration. He paced in front of his bed, glaring at the door. From beyond the obstruction of wood, he could hear the creak of bed springs and broken sentences in some guttural language he didn't recognize.

Brad Crawford stopped his pacing and glaring with a sigh. He walked over and leaned his head against the doorframe. He still couldn't name the language, but he knew that Schuldig was having a restless sleep. He opened the door quietly. Almost immediately, the sleeping telepath across the hall stopped thrashing about and settled into a deeper sleep. Without his glasses Brad couldn't make out the telepath clearly, but he could tell that the other man now slept peacefully, as he always did with Brad across the hall.

End Chapter five

Thanks for stopping by and I hope you will return. As always reviews are welcome and appreciated.

Solaras


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's notes: Sorry got distracted again. I recently graduated and all I going to say is Virginia Tech. Time to move on to brighter things. I hope anyway. Job hunting sucks! So now that I'm back to being 'Solaras,' it is time to work on this monster again. And I still haven't finished catching this site up with everywhere else! I'm such a bum. Anyway I hope everyone likes this chapter. It's a little lighter than the last one. Großmutter returns, so everyone that has been requesting more of her, this chapter is for you.

Review Responses: Thanks to everyone (And for future reference; now that FFN has the reply feature for reviews, which do you guys prefer? Shall I continue in this format or reply to everyone through the reply feature?)

**Brenn** - You probably have read it before. It's on a couple other sites, and it used to be here. My account got deleted, but not for this story. I know what it was for blush Some fandoms are not as nice as Weiss. :( I was pissed off for awhile and didn't reload the story, but then I started feeling bad. MGaC had a good following here on FFN, so here it is again. Well if I ever get it caught up. And yes that line is from this chapter!

**StickmanRVR** - Yes, I rather liked that chapter myself. I was feeling mischievous when I wrote it.

**Self Inflicted** – When Schuldig is about, everyone needs to censor. Who knows what he will use against you.

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German Words:

Großmutter- Grandmother

Ja – Yes

Nein - No

Verdammt – Damn it

Chapter six:

"I said chip at the ice block, not go at it with a sledge hammer!"

"Ja, I know Großmutter, but I was kind of drunk at the time."

"Drunk! Boy, what did I tell you about that stuff? It will rot your stomach and it muddles the brains, although, I'm not sure you have any now," huffed Hirota Midori.

"Hey!" protested an indignant Schuldig, "he responded didn't he?"

"And left you flat on you behind!"

"Well… he's just a surly bastard with a stick up his…"

"Language! And get your sticky little fingers out of that bowl. There won't be any muffins if you eat all the batter," scolded 'Grandmother'. "Shoo, out of the kitchen with you. Go sit at the table."

Under threat of wooden spoon, Schuldig retreated to the dinning area which was separated from the kitchen by a stretch of counter. After rising late in the afternoon, the telepath had gone to visit die Großmutter for a late breakfast. The old woman had been more than happy to feed her scrawny visitor. She had a notion that day to fix blueberry muffins; a product of her growing collection of foreign cookbooks. While defending the uncooked muffin mix from a pilfering German, she inquired about the 'crack the ice block' project. Schuldig had sniffed and grumbled something in German, before he related the events of last night. Midori had blushed at the more intense moments, as Schuldig never did possess a sense of modesty, and then chuckled at the redhead's indignant disbelief at Brad's refusal.

"How could he have said no? I was there all hot and waiting, and I looked good, Großmutter, I looked damn good. Of course I always look good, but I looked especially good. And one moment he's there and then, verdammt, I'm on the floor," griped Schuldig from his seat at the table.

"You moved to fast."

"To fast! He wanted me. I know he did," insisted Schuldig striking at the table, "and I was certainly in the mood."

"It's not all about sex dear," said Midori. With the muffins now in the oven, the plump woman took a seat beside the telepath.

"What else is there," scoffed Schuldig moving to rest his chin in the palm of his right hand.

"Boy, I have half a mind to smack you upside that unruly head of yours!" snapped Midori. "You can't go through your life just looking for the next one night stand."

"Worked so far," protested Schuldig.

"What about compassion, respect, and dare I even mention it, love," she said half expecting the snort that followed.

"Brad doesn't love anything, except maybe money. He spends more time picking out suits than with me," was the gruff reply.

"And I'm sure you really make an effort," said Midori sarcastically.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Schuldig do you love anyone? Better yet, do you let anyone love you?"

"Eh?"

"There is more than lust between you and the American, Schuldig. You just have to admit it to yourselves," Midori sighed as Schuldig traced invisible patterns on the table top with his index finger.

"Are the muffins ready yet?" he asked not looking up.

"Schuldig," Midori said with an antagonizing tone.

"What?" the German snapped at the older woman.

"Don't change the subject," she nagged in a mimic of Schuldig's tone, "or are you afraid I'm right."

"I'm not afraid," Schuldig quickly challenged, "The notion is just ridiculous is all. Brad would never love me back!"

"So you do love him," Midori smiled triumphantly.

"I didn't say that!"

"You said he would never love you _back_, thus you imply that you love him."

"But, but I didn't mean…"

"See I'm right. Now you just have to convince mister ice block of that."

"Now see here…"

"Oh! I better check the muffins," Midori said rising from her chair.

"Großmutter!"

"Now Schuldig, what is so hard about this. You already admitted the other day to liking the American," 'Grandmother' reminded. "You've known him for years, yes? This isn't just a hit and run. I've already said that you two go well together."

"I'm not looking for some sappy 'till death do us part' romance. Sure I'll admit I'd like to fu…"

"Don't you say it," Midori warned, wooden spoon in hand. Schuldig gave a fake cough and held up his hands warding off the pending attack.

"Sure I'd like to sleep with him, but I don't know about a relationship," he continued.

"And what pray tell is wrong with a steady relationship?" she pressed, once more brandishing the spoon. "I was married for forty years, and never once did I stray, neither was I tempted. A significant other is a good thing to have: they support you, make you feel better, and care about your well being. Plus they can be lots of fun."

"We are talking about Brad here," Schuldig said sullenly, "he is anti-fun, and I don't think he would care if I fell off the face of the Earth."

"I bet that isn't true," Midori said gently coming back to the table. She carried with her a tray of fresh muffins.

"No, he really can be the most boring person alive!" Schuldig emphasized while ogling the tray. He wiggled his fingers and reached for an oversized muffin only to be batted away.

"Let them cool a minute. Really you have no patience," the old woman chuckled at Schuldig's pout. "And I meant Crawford not caring about you. I'm sure he cares more than he lets on."

"I wouldn't bet on it," the redhead grumbled and laid his head on the table.

"What makes you think he doesn't care?"

"Well he…um…he ignores me!"

"Schuldig," Midori laughed, "with as much attention as you require, I'm sure it seems everyone ignores you."

"You don't."

"Well thank you," she said with a nod, "but I don't have much else pressing for my attention. I bet your Brad is a very busy man. Didn't you tell me he took care of most of the business affairs?"

"I suppose so, but he bosses me around all the time. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks I'm incapable of thinking," Schuldig argued.

"Well perhaps he's worried about you, and feels he knows the situation better. Maybe he is trying to protect you."

As far fetched at Midori's statement sounded, Schuldig did have to give it some credit. After all, Brad was the Oracle. The clairvoyant would know the situation better than Schuldig, as he would usually already know what would occur. More often than not, Brad would maneuver people to play out his own version of the future. Brad was the most powerful precog alive, and Schuldig respected that power. The telepath may be called Mastermind, but Crawford was the brains of the operation.

"I can take care of myself. He just wants to control everything," Schuldig protested.

"I'm sure you can dear," Midori soothed while scooping muffins out of the tray.

"I can!" whined Schuldig.

"Did I say you couldn't?"

"Well…"

"Although it wouldn't hurt if you put on a few pounds. Here eat some muffins." Schuldig glared but didn't complain as he shoved half a muffin in his mouth. "Look Schuldig, all I'm trying to say is, don't count out that Brad Crawford may care about you. Start paying attention to people outside yourself. No, close your mouth and let me finish, and don't talk with your mouth full. You're a very observant person in some ways. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but you just seem aware of everything and everyone around you. You get this look sometimes like you know everyone's darkest secret. But at the same time you miss the little things. Am I making sense?"

"Nein and I think you are off your rocker," Schuldig mumbled around a bite of muffin.

"Well I'll put it simply. Schuldig, though a dear you may be, you are a self-centered creature."

"And here I thought you were actually going to insult me," laughed the redhead. "Hey, bring those back!" Schuldig reached in vain for the plate of muffins Midori held just out of his grasp.

"You can have the muffins after you listen to me," Midori said placing the muffins at the end of the table. "Now what I'm trying to explain to you is that, you pay attention to what you want to, usually things that involve or revolve around you. I want you to stop thinking about yourself so much, for a day or two, and actually watch Brad. Pay attention to all the little things he does. I think you will find he notices you more than you think."

"Fine, whatever, I'll watch Brad. At least the view is good, but I'll tell you now it's a waste of time. Can I have the muffins now?" Schuldig pleaded.

"Just humor me. Now eat up. My second goal, other than matchmaking, is to fatten you up."

"Planning to cook me Großmutter?" snickered Schuldig as he reached for another of the fluffy confections.

"No," laughed Midori, "just trying to give Brad some love handles to hold on to when he finally nails you into the mattress."

"Großmutter!"

End Chapter Six

Well that's all for this chapter. I know it's not very long, but I thought this was a good place to end it. As always reviews are welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Solaras


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's Note: And continuing on… This is kind of a strange chapter. I blame the cold medicine I was on at the time.

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German Words:

Großmutter - Grandmother

Scheiße – shit

Ja - yes

Chapter seven:

He had foreseen it, but that didn't mean Brad Crawford understood it. Never the less, as he made his morning coffee, he took down the offensive orange mug that only Schuldig would use. He filled the mug three-fourths of the way full of coffee, added three spoons of sugar, and filled the cup the rest of the way with cream. His own coffee was much simpler: black. The telepath's idea of morning caffeine was a waste of good coffee in Crawford's opinion, but Schuldig had always preferred sweet things. He sat the horrid orange cup of coffee at Schuldig's spot on the table, and then sat in his traditional seat with his own pristine white cup. Now he waited for his unusual vision to play out…one sip…two…three...BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Until this morning the precog wasn't even aware that Schuldig's alarm worked. The offending noise continued for several minutes, and since Schuldig kept his door open, Brad could hear it loud and clear.

"Scheiße!"

The exclamation was followed by a loud clap and a thud. Schuldig, as Brad had foreseen, fell out of bed trying to stop the sudden noise. The precog had already ordered the redhead a new clock last night. He set his cup down and waited for Schuldig to enter the kitchen. His vision had ended with Schuldig sitting down at the table.

As Schuldig and Großmutter had planned, today was the day for Brad watching. Knowing that Brad Crawford got up at an unholy hour of the morning, Schuldig had decided he should get up too, if nothing else he would find out what the American did all morning. The redhead had spent a good fifteen minutes the night before figuring out how the alarm clock worked, as he had no intention of asking Nagi for help. The whelp would never let him live something like that down. Schuldig had decided to get up at 7:30, Brad's coffee time. The precog would probably have been up for an hour or so before that showering, shaving, getting dressed, and other such things Schuldig decided he could miss in favor of sleep. Even so, 7:30 was still too early for the telepath.

As Schuldig scrapped himself off the floor, he decided that alarm clocks couldn't possibly be a German invention. In fact, they were probably invented by some stuffy American like Crawford in order to annoy sleep loving Germans like himself. It took the annoyed redhead a few minutes to remember why exactly he was awake at such an ungodly hour. After consciousness returned to his brain he remembered his purpose: watch Brad for signs of what Großmutter called affection, and if it happened to annoy the precog in the process, all the more fun. Schuldig didn't have much else to do, so humoring the old woman, and bothering Brad at the same time, would at least pass some time.

Schuldig wandered into the kitchen in a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and a pair of red boxers with little bleeding hearts on them. The boxers had been a gift from Farfarello for one holiday or another. The telepath slumped down in his seat leaning over his mug of coffee. He took a big whiff of the blessed caffeine before sipping the hot liquid.

Brad waited patiently while the bedraggled telepath returned to the world of the living. Some part of his brain noted Schuldig's lack of pants, but it was firmly squashed before the thought could fully process. It was bright and early in the morning. It was not late at night when he was tired with a drunken Schuldig, and there was absolutely no excuse to be thinking about legs. No man should have legs like that anyway. They were much too long and good for wrapping around things. He was not thinking about the other night, or how Schuldig's mussed hair would be even wilder if they had… No, he was not thinking about anything but the paper he should have opened by now.

"Plans today Schuldig?" Brad asked opening his morning paper.

"Huh?" Schuldig looked up from his coffee bleary-eyed.

"You are awake not only before noon, but before Nagi has made breakfast."

"Oh, well can't a guy just wake up early now and then."

Brad raised an eyebrow, and then went back to his coffee and paper. Schuldig winced at the stupid response. Lying and manipulation were supposed to be his strong points. He really wasn't any good before noon.

"Are you feeling well?" Brad asked.

"Huh?"

"It is probably a good thing our work tends to be done at night," Brad sighed irritably as he put down the paper. "Are you having problems with your telepathy?"

"Why, did you see something?" Schuldig asked feigning disinterest. He took another sip of his coffee noticing it was to his taste.

"Only you setting your alarm clock, which I can't remember ever happening before. Did you get mixed up in someone else's mind? Even if it was just for a moment Schuldig, I want to know if you are having trouble. The last time you lost…"

"That's not fair Brad!" Schuldig snapped. "That was some time ago, and I had been sick."

"I need you in working order Schuldig," the precog answered coolly.

"My head is not going to blow up Herr Crawford," Schuldig sneered. "Am I disrupting your perfect schedule? Is my irrational behavior disrupting your perfect future? Excuse me for being a telepath. We tend to do irrational things."

"I don't want to argue with you Schuldig," Brad said in appeasement.

"Apparently you don't want to do anything with me," the telepath grumbled quietly.

"Do you cry God?!" a gruff voice bellowed from down the hall. Both men at the table were glad for the disturbance.

"Not a good day for Farfarello then?" asked Schuldig once more sipping his coffee.

"Do you weep for your desecrated temple?!"

"It's Sunday," Brad replied picking up his mug.

"That explains it."

"I'll send Nagi to restrain him at 11:36 before he makes a mess."

"He hasn't gotten to kill anyone recently," said Schuldig, "we can't keep him cooped up but for so long. Is Takatori going to need us to actually be assassins anytime soon? I'm getting tired of all this boring body guard shit myself."

"We won't be personally killing anyone for awhile. I believe tomorrow evening would be a good time for you to take him out Schuldig."

"He'd like to go out tonight," Schuldig said staring in the direction of Farfarello's room.

"He is too volatile on Sundays. Make sure he finds a victim no one will miss. We are going to be in Tokyo for to long for high profile murders. He can kill priests next time we travel."

"Ja."

Brad moved to refill his cup, and offered a hand for Schuldig's empty mug. With both cups in hand, the precog strode to the counter beside Schuldig. As he had done previously that morning, Brad spooned three helpings of sugar into the mug and topped it off with cream. He returned Schuldig's orange mug, and took his seat once more.

"Schuldig," Brad started, "Are you all right?" This time his voice lacked the irritation from before. The redhead looked up at the odd tone from the Schwarz leader, but as always the precog was unreadable.

"I'm fine, just wanted to know if the monotonous minds in this city are any more interesting in the morning," Schuldig replied. Brad gave a last suspicious glance, before nodding in acceptance and went back to his paper. Schuldig pondered Brad's strange tone a moment more, and then returned his attention to blessed caffeine. Again his coffee was fixed perfectly to his taste.

End Chapter

Oh yeah and along with my return to fanfiction, I am using my livejournal again. Feel free to harass me if I take to long to update. Sometimes I need a kick in the rear.

solaras.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's Notes: And continuing with the updating, here we are with chapter eight. Yay!

Review Responses: YAY! I like reviews.

**Brenn** – Nope not dead, just hibernated for awhile. I think the muse for this story came in the form of Großmutter, so of course she had to have her moments.

**StickmanRVR** – Couldn't have said it better. Your reviews just wrap everything up so nicely.

**Xion-BR3** – Well here's the soon part, as for the 'turns out' part, that might be a bit. This thing gets something resembling plot later. Oh what have I done to myself!

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German Words:

Großmutter ist geisteskrank.: Grandmother is insane.

Chapter Eight

The good thing about Sundays was that Takatori didn't work. He spent the day at home, at his mountain cabin, or spending time with his bastard child, ironically the only one he really liked. All were activities that didn't require Schwarz, especially visiting the girl. The politician had plenty of security at his residences, and Schwarz was mostly for intimidation rather than real protection; although, they did come in handy for that as well. Of course Schwarz had another, under the legal radar, purpose for assassinating competitors, spies, unlucky investigative reporters, and any other troublemakers. The result of Takatori's day of indulgence was Schwarz's own day off. There were the occasional exceptions to this, but for the most part the assassins had Sundays to themselves.

Brad Crawford, for all the workaholic he could be, made sure all reports and files were done before hand, so that he could spend his scheduled day off in peace. Sunday was usually a quiet day. Nagi, after making breakfast, usually spent the day surfing the web or watching T.V. Farfarello, for his own protection, spent the day sedated. Schuldig usually slept in, and then dozed on the couch. Through all this blessed quiet, Brad would sit in his chair and read. If the precog was in a really good mood, he might even humor Nagi and watch a movie with the boy and Schuldig. This particular Sunday, however, was different. Brad knew his vision of Schuldig using the alarm clock meant trouble.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"Boring."

Schuldig was thoroughly convinced that Brad Crawford was, quite possibly, the most boring man on the face of the planet. So far Schuldig had watched Brad finish breakfast, send Nagi to restrain Farfarello, read the paper, and now read a book. The only acknowledgement of the telepath's presence had been the argument in the kitchen. Schuldig shifted into a more comfortable sprawl across the couch.

"Don't you know how it ends?" Schuldig said flicking his hand in a vague gesture towards the book.

"Are you intent on annoying me all day? And no Schuldig, I don't know the ending. I am capable of blocking such minor nuances. Not that it matters, as the book is nonfiction."

"Why read something that you already know the ending to?"

"Schuldig, do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Alright Schuldig," Brad said calmly, putting his book down in defeat. "What do you want? Your car is intact, so you don't need mine. I know you are not out of money, so what is it?"

"What?! All I did was ask a question."

"You have been following me all day."

"What, I can't sit in the same room as you?"

"Schuldig," Brad hissed out in effort not to shout. The telepath was obviously trying to rile him, and Crawford would not give him the satisfaction.

"It's not my fault that you are insecure about your useless pastime."

"Don't you have a bar to go too? Isn't it German telepath happy hour?"

"You make me sound like an alcoholic!" Schuldig snapped.

"I call them as I see them," Brad replied somberly.

"I do other stuff!" Schuldig said while turning to sit up straight. His back stiff, the telepath glared at the offending precog. "I…ah."

"Sleep does not count."

"I'm an assassin; I kill people. See there, I'm employed." Schuldig crossed his arms and huffed in triumph.

"Schuldig…" Brad sighed.

"I am not useless Brad."

"Did I say that?"

"You were thinking it. I'm a telepath. I know how people think."

"That's not the point."

"Ah ha, you do think I'm useless!"

"Schuldig," the precog gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And you don't trust me at all. I'm just a useless untrustworthy lump who sleeps a lot. I can't even sit in the same room without suspicion," Schuldig ranted then more quietly, "Großmutter ist geisteskrank."

"What does the old woman have to do with anything?" asked Brad in utter confusion. Telepaths were known for being erratic, but the situation was getting preposterous.

"Nothing," Schuldig replied flatly.

"What is this about?"

"It's about the fact that you don't like me!"

Schuldig had turned his face away from the precog, so he didn't see Brad move; however, he was firmly aware of the back of a warm hand pressed to his forehead. Blue eyes rose to stare cross-eyed at the invading hand. Brad removed his hand only to place it on his own forehead, and then return it to its former position on top the redhead. Brad, Schuldig noted, had nice hands with long fingers. His own long fingers were much to skinny and didn't appear very strong. Oh sure, the telepath could swing a punch, but he was just as likely to break a finger along with his opponents nose. Schuldig liked mental debilitation, guns, and other long range attacks, but Brad liked a good fist fight. The precog was an excellent marksman, and enjoyed the power of pulling the trigger; however, nothing thrilled the American more than feeling bones shatter under his knuckles. If Schuldig looked closely, he could make out a jagged white line marring the skin on the knuckle of Brad's index finger. The other guy had not only lost his tooth, but the sight in his left eye. Brad liked a good fight. In the flurry of movement, staying one step ahead of his opponent, took his precognition to the limit.

Schuldig's eyes followed the line of Brad's arm up to his face. Brown eyes, the color of honey when the light hit them, stared back at him passively. Schuldig opened his mouth, hesitated, and in rare occurrence, said nothing. The precog was attractive, Schuldig would admit that; knowing him, it was the first thought he ever had about the American. Crawford was also a self-absorbed bastard, but so was Schuldig. Maybe more even. But when both of them stopped talking, Schuldig could almost think… but he didn't think about that because this was Crawford. Except that Großmutter had made him think about it; was making him think about it. He was following Brad around for the explicit purpose of thinking about it.

"What are you doing," Schuldig finally croaked.

"You don't feel warm. Are you sure you are feeling ok? No headaches?"

"I'm fine."

Schuldig left Brad standing by the couch, hand still hovering in the air. The precog, even more confused by the sudden silence, watched the redhead walk down the hall. Sighing Brad returned to his book and chair. He sat staring at the couch for a moment, pondering the bizarre course of the day. Finally he chalked everything up to irrational telepaths, and focused on his book. After all it was Sunday, and he read on Sundays. Maybe if he was feeling particularly nice, he would humor Nagi and watch a movie.

End Chapter

I know its short, but the chapter just wanted to end here. My muse demanded coherency over length. I like this chapter. I don't know why, but I do. If I can stay out of my rut, and get some work done, this story might actually get somewhere. LOL

As always reviews are welcomed and appreciated.

Solaras


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author's Notes: Sorry again for the delay. I've been in exile at my parents' house while I figured out what to do with my life, which was to delay it and go back to school for another degree :P Oh man I'm so broke, stupid tuition.

Anyway, I will get this story caught up here. Currently I'm working on chapter 12 (very slowly working). My brain has been ambushed by other fandoms.

Review Responses:

**Xion-BR3 – **I've decided I hate plot :( but I will persevere; this story will not defeat me!

**may – **Großmutter truly is the muse for this project, and of course Crawford is suspicious of anything that doesn't go the way he thinks it should, including irrational telepaths.

**platonios – **I think I can handle those requests. Brad is so busy manipulating the universe, he doesn't see what's in front of his face :P

**StickmanRVR – **Oh wow, you speak:P Actually I was quite amused by your short reviews; liked to think I'd rendered you speechless (not arrogant at all, am I, lol).

**Sacral – **I know, I'm such a terrible author. I make no claims otherwise. I have fandom ADD, I swear, and I can't keep my attention on Weiss long enough to make significant progress. -sigh- I shouldn't be allowed to write chapter fics. But I will continue, even if it takes another two years -wink-

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

German Words:

Großmutter - Grandmother

Halt die Schnauze – Shut up (I found several different ways to say this online and in my

dictionary. I don't know which way would be used, but I like this one the best. It's literally 'Stop the lip,' and it made me think of a teacher or my mom saying 'Don't give me any lip.' )

was auch immer- whatever

Chapter Nine

Schuldig stood, hand on the doorknob, staring at his half closed door. He wanted to close it; to shut Crawford out. He wanted to keep it open, so that he wasn't alone. He wanted to be alone, but he couldn't be alone. There were the voices, always the voices. He wanted to go back to the living room, lie on the couch, and listen to the silence that was Brad. He wanted a physical reminder that the voices weren't disembodied phantasms haunting him, that he wasn't imagining things. He was fine. People could be like him; were like him. It was _normal_. He wasn't possessed. His mother didn't have to be afraid. The doctors in their white coats and the priests in their black robes lied. He wasn't sick. There was no need for locks. Demons may like the dark, but he didn't. He was human. He was human!

Schuldig breathed in a shaky breath, and released the doorknob; the impression of which remained on his palm. He left the door half open.

/Mom just doesn't get it./

/Is he cheating on me?/

/I wonder if it comes in blue…/

/I could ask. I could go right up to her. Oh shit here she comes!/

/Could death be any worse?/

/I wish she'd get off my case./

/Maybe if I did my hair, he'd notice me./

/or red…/

/She'd never go out with me./

/Would anyone notice if I did it?/

The telepath stood in front of the doorway, just listening. There were always so many people, so many thoughts. Language never seemed to be a problem in people's minds. Thoughts, Schuldig thought, were the ultimate barrier breaker. To bad everyone didn't know that, or to bad everyone didn't know Schuldig knew that; depending on the point of view. For a moment Schuldig just listened to a chorus only he could hear, and let it carry him away. His mind floated on a sea of noise that became closer to static the wider he let the field grow. Mentally scattering himself verged on extremely dangerous. If the net was to thin, it would break. Just one mind in excess, and Schuldig could lose himself forever in a sea of chaos, but the white noise; however, could be just as addicting as silence. If the voices couldn't be silenced, then block them with more noise till there was nothing remotely resembling words: the Telepath's Symphony.

Schuldig sank to the floor. His head fell back to rest on the end of the bed, and there he sat staring at nothing, as music only he could hear filled his head. Slowly, above the din, his own thoughts collected. As oil from water, Schuldig's mind slipped drop by drop to float together all the while shaking clingy interlopers away. There beyond the interference of other minds and personalities, Schuldig thought his own thoughts, confident in the knowledge that they were his thoughts.

Brad Crawford, he thought, was not supposed to be serious. Brad Crawford was supposed to be a game to amuse Schuldig, and to prove that Großmutter was wrong. Flirting with Brad Crawford was supposed to be fun because annoying Brad Crawford was fun. If he managed to get laid in the process, however unlikely, all the better, but it shouldn't be serious. Of course the precog should worry about Schuldig, he was planning an usurpation of a powerful organization, but where was the line of professional interest? Schuldig could take care of himself. He didn't always need Brad Crawford, bastard precog extraordinaire. He just needed Brad sometimes, occasionally, not even that; just when he did, but only because Brad was usually already there. The precog knew what it was like to have a talent _(gift/curse)_ ready to engulf him. Precognition may not be as volatile as telepathy, but Brad could understand enough. That didn't mean Schuldig needed the bastard. He could do without Brad, and he could certainly make his own coffee. Brad Crawford was not supposed to be serious. Brad Crawford wasn't supposed to look at Schuldig with honey colored eyes, and Schuldig wasn't supposed to like them so much.

But Schuldig, who was never really alone, didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone outside the voices, a physicality that he could see and touch. He wanted to exist outside his mind. He wanted to be noticed, and not cast aside. He wanted to be recognized, touched, and heard. He wanted to be real to somebody, and not just a voice in someone else's head. He needed to exist.

Mental strain was starting to set in. Beyond the white noise, pain waited. Blackness hovered just out of the telepath's control. Carefully, Schuldig began to filter through the noise. He retracted back into his own mind. The sounds became more distinct, gaining syllables, and whole words. No longer actively scanning, the voices lessoned in intensity. He could still hear them flowing through the back of his mind, around his own thoughts, occasionally through them, and back again. Slowly he came down from his high. He blinked once, again, then slowly focused on the ceiling.

"Does Crawford know you're doing that?"

"Halt die Schnauze."

"Dinner's ready."

"Ja, was auch immer."

"I'm not saving it, if you don't eat."

"Nagi," Schuldig's eyes rolled down to gaze, past his nose, at the voice not in his head, "don't tell Brad."

"I suppose if your head was going to combust, Crawford would have seen it."

"He's focused on Estet. He pushes everything else out."

"Not stuff involving your brain exploding."

"How do you know?"

"Schuldig," Nagi sighed irritably, "don't be stupid. He would know if one of us was going to die. He's Crawford."

"Yeah, sure kid."

"Don't call me that," Nagi snapped. "You look like crap." The Japanese boy walked the few steps to the bathroom, rummaged through a drawer, and came back. Dropping a small bottle in the telepaths lap, he turned to leave again. "Crawford hates it when you're reckless."

"He hates disorder," Schuldig replied to Nagi's retreating back. The redhead held up the bottle of eye drops, which apparently was the signal for his eyes to announce their dry and bloodshot state.

After his eyes no longer resembled veined marbles, Schuldig strolled to the kitchen. He took his customary seat with Brad on his right and Nagi on his left. Across from him, Farfarello's seat was empty, as it always was on Sunday. Brad gave a raised eyebrow glance in the telepath's direction, before returning his attention to dinner. Schuldig stared at his plate of nikujaga, feeling strangely comforted by the sight of potatoes. The vegetable may have been coated in soya sauce, but the German always liked it when he could identify his food. Food, in his opinion, shouldn't be unpredictable. There were enough things in life to watch out for other than food. But Japanese food, in his opinion, was full of oddities. Life, in his opinion, was full of oddities; namely one bastard precog extraordinaire with honey colored eyes.

End Chapter

Well what do yall think so far? I'm letting Schuldig take the route of epiphany. Is it working? I still have no idea how long this thing is going to be. On one hand (aka lazy) I could get to the point and make it short. On the other hand (aka plot) I could make it long and work in more of the anime and end up with a long story full of impact (one can dream). I've been setting it up to go the long route. Now tell me honestly people, would you hang around for the scenic tour? My muse demands plot! Writing gods help me.

Oh yeah, Farfarello fans rejoice. Our favorite psychopath should be getting some stage time in the near future. Maybe next chapter if I don't detour again.

Solaras


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

**Author's Notes:** Warning for blood. Farfarello takes the stage. It's not too bad. I could have done much worse, but since this is not a fic dealing mainly with the workings of Farfarello's mind, I restrained myself. It is important to me, however, to work in scenes like this because it's Schwarz. They kill people for a living, and don't appear particularly sorry for it. It has to be dealt with, exorcised from my mind, and then turned into a push for the plot. Oh and happy news! I might just know the course of the plot.

**Personal Note:** This is like one of my favorite chapters to date! Everyone else will probably think it sucks, but just this once I don't care. I love chapter 10!

**Review Responses:** I actually meant to post this earlier today, along about the time I posted 9, but I got distracted playing impromptu beta. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised to find reviews for chapter nine. Heart you guys!

**Xion-BR3 – **I've decided to follow the plot, fanfiction gods help me.

**B – **Long it is. The reviewers have spoken!

**Brenn – **Here we go, with another chapter: one small step for Solaras, one never ending fanfic for the muse and the reviewers.

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

**German Words:**

Scheiße - shit

**Chapter Ten**

Darkness reigned inside. The inky blackness stood poised to enslave all that should step within its reach; even being so bold as to threaten the invading light spilling from the open door. Schuldig hovered in the doorway to Farfarello's room, casting his blue-eyed gaze about for any sign of life. Sedatives kept the Irishman from joining the living the day before, but now, over twenty-four hours later…

"Farfie, you in there?" Schuldig questioned the darkened room. "Scheiße, don't tell me you found a new way to sneak out."

Taking a few steps into the room, Schuldig felt along the wall for the light switch, his form slowly swallowed by the darkness. His fingertips brushed across smooth plaster, till they felt even smoother plastic. Along the edge of the switch casing his fingers went, up over the metal screw head, and finally to the base of the switch itself. A light build of tension in the redhead's arm flowed to his index finger, and was lost in a spasm of flailing limbs!

Schuldig's yelp and ensuing curse were lost in a heavy palm pressed over his mouth. A golden eye, the only thing of his assailant that caught the scant light, glowed in the mass of darkness above him. The ball of fiery amber descended to within an inch of the telepath's own wide eyes. Blue eyes quickly narrowed, and a muffled string of protests and curses accompanied an angry struggle.

Farfarello rode out the bucking and flailing, as easily as any predator with a good grip on its prey. The antelope was fast, but the lion was stronger. The hand not already busy shutting the German's mouth, snatched up two wrists, and restrained the pounding fists. Pushing Schuldig's arms above his head, Farfarello once again brought his eye level with those of the telepath.

"Tsk, tsk," Farfarello breathed against Schuldig. "Be sober; be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour."1 Farfarello's hiss of laughter moved to brush along his captive's ear, the hair on Schuldig's neck rose in its wake. "Tell me Guilty One, what is it like to devour someone's mind, gain their knowledge, defile that last stronghold, and rip away their power? Do you think, if I eat yours, I would gain your power? Bone is such a flimsy barrier. The flesh is weak. He made us so. He set us amongst the wolves with nothing but skin to protect us, like a science project: see how long man can survive. But I have claws, Guilty One."

At some point, unnoticed by Schuldig, the hand over his mouth had lifted, but he noticed the edge of a blade when he felt it. He could feel the deliberate increase of pressure, as the knife bit into his throat.

"Get off," Schuldig said evenly, while trying not to move his jaw muscles. His answer came in the burn of splitting skin. A small slit nothing more, but enough to rupture tiny blood vessels just below the surface. "I will kill you."

"Nay, for you are no servant of God," Farfarello purred. "Though He may try and smite me, He has no power over us unless we give it to Him. I will take of His, and destroy. You, Guilty One, have never been His. You will not strike me down. You will help me."

"Devil's disciple am I?"

"Not the Devil. Where he fails, I shall succeed. The Fallen Angel reigns in Hell. He has no more power here than God. I am here, and God shall feel my wrath."

Schuldig felt the knife lift away, and replaced by the swipe of a tongue. A trail of warm wetness followed the cooled path of blood down the telepath's throat. As he spoke, Farfarello's breath pooled in the hollow of Schuldig's throat and slithered across his collar bone.

"Come with me purveyor of sin, and we shall sound the hunt."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Schuldig smirked. "Brad said it's ok to play, so let's go play. Let's go hunt your God."

Farfarello raised his head and smiled. The light from the doorway reached him at last, only to cast deep shadows across his face. Schuldig grinned back at the menacing set of teeth above him. Farfarello knew that this close, it was his thoughts that danced through the telepath's mind. Once away from the apartment and the Oracle, Farfarello's mind would be the strongest influence. The Guilty One would help him destroy God. Schuldig wouldn't just restrain him like Nagi, he would join in. Farfarello's red obsession would become Schuldig's, and the hunt would be twice as fun.

There were several reasons why Schuldig usually accompanied Farfarello. Crawford, for all his love of good boxing, abhorred the mess. Farfarello had always respected the American's own lust for blood, controlled as it was, but Crawford preferred his suits in neutral colors, not red. Nagi, by collective agreement, was too young for the Irishman's brand of killing. Farfarello liked the boy, as his faith was placed in technology, the God killer. In front of Nagi, Farfarello made an attempt at restraint. Killing was one thing, but molding intestines was something else entirely. Schuldig on the other hand, had no problem with blood. The German had seen enough of it gush from his own nose by the age of six, for him to be squeamish. It was also therapeutic for the telepath to get of his mind, so to speak, and Farfarello gladly let him romp through his.

Schuldig grinned down at the Japanese man, whose arms he was holding. Farfarello sat on his legs, and proceeded to make an abdominal incision. Slowly, while the man screamed and pleaded, Farfarello pulled out the kinky rope of his intestines.

"Lamb of God, I look to thee; thou shalt my example be; thou art gentle, meek, and mild; thou wast once a little child."2

"Eh, I don't know that hymn. Pick another," Schuldig laughed.

"Thou wast once God's child. Now your mine." Farfarello wrapped the line of innards tight around the man's neck.

"Scream if you still can," Schuldig said, "no one will hear you, or at least they think they won't. Now the real science project begins, which will kill you first: lack of air or pain." The redhead watched as Farfarello began to strip away skin. "Nice knife. Is it new?"

"Home shopping channel," Farfarello stated without looking up. "Let's see if it's as good proclaimed. If it doesn't skin him as well as the tomato on TV, then I still have thirty days to return it."

The man coughed and wheezed, while his throat muscles flexed beneath the fleshy binding. Pink froth dribbled down his chin with every choked scream. Nasal laughter and a golden gaze haunted the doomed man.

Once the man's mind descended into black silence, the telepath left Farfarello to his work. Schuldig sat against a relatively bloodless space of brick wall, and watched the trail of smoke from his cigarette slither towards the sky. Blood seeped along the ground, pooling in cracks and potholes. The air in the alley, situated between two warehouses, was thick with the smell of raw meat. Stray dogs waited behind dumpsters for the humans to leave. Scavengers ate last. Farfarello pulled out the dead man's liver, and threw it to a particularly large dog.

"How pliant is this Mephistopheles," the psychopath said to the dog.

Beside him, laid out on the ground, were the flayed skin and a pile of various fleshy lumps, organs. Only the small intestine and the eyes were excluded from the sideline display. The intestine was wrapped around its owner's neck. The eyes were left in.

"The Liar will look into your eyes, and into you soul, there he shall find me," the Irishman told the corpse. He stood and stretched like a large contented cat; his pale skin splattered liberally with blood, and as he moved toward Schuldig, a cloud of red rain followed him. Wet gore splashed on Schuldig's face, as he looked up at the man above him.

"And what are you that live with Lucifer?" Schuldig offered the line and Farfarello smirked.

"Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, conspired against our God with Lucifer, and are forever damned with Lucifer," Farfarello replied.

"Where are you damned?" Schuldig quoted again.

"In hell."

"How comes it then that thou art out of hell?"

"Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it."3

End Chapter

**End Notes**: Farfarello demanded that the chapter end on that line. I wanted to make the chapter longer, but he's armed and I'm not. I always thought Farfarello seemed like someone who might appreciate Marlowe, and now just seemed an interesting time to work that in. If you've read it, you'll get it. If not, then it's still a cool set of lines. Off to work on the next chapter. More BradxSchuness next time.

Endnotes, because I put way to much thought into this chapter.

1 Bible, 1 Peter v. 8

2 Wesley, Charles. "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild"

3 Marlowe, Christopher. Doctor Faustus. Scene 4 Lines 30, 71-78.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

**Author's Notes:** I like this chapter too. Yay Brad and Schu!

**Review Responses:** Happy happy joy joy :)

**Xion-BR3** – Farfarello certainly had fun. I have to let him out now and then, or he gets cranky. I'm glad you liked the quotes. I'm still very pleased about them myself :P

**Brenn –** You win at life! Art, good description. That's kind of the feeling I was going for with them. For them it's their past time sort of. It is like art for them. Now for BxS time. This is a good chapter for them, I think.

**Red-Planet31** – Oh man cracks up Those lines still make me laugh. The humor gods smiled on me that day.

**maruuu **– I'd probably have more reviews if I'd update regularly, but alas I'm slow. Consider that before you commit to be my #1 supporter. You may end up as #1 in the line to hunt me down and tie me to the computer before this story is done. But yes much love for reviews

**Aivoth -** blush no, no not abandoned, never that. I'm just the most procrastinating author alive. Check back every few months, and you might get a surprise. :P

-telepathy- aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

**German Words:**

Ja - Yes

Was – What

Ich - I

**Chapter Eleven**

Schuldig sat in the floor of the hall bathroom. He idly twirled a matted lock of blood painted hair. Previously he had seen to Farfarello, making sure he went to his own bathroom to clean up. Crawford and Farfarello had claimed the larger bedrooms, which included their own bath; the Irishman so he could clean and bandage himself at all hours, and Crawford because he was Crawford. The precog would be upset if the two of them stained everything burgundy. Dried blood never looked as sharp as the freshly spilt kind. After the stuff began to congeal, it was just a sticky mess, and after dried, it was just annoying. Schuldig scrapped at his nails.

The telepath usually didn't get so involved in Farfarello's escapades. Sure he aided in the targeting, finding someone alone and with no one waiting for them. Often he helped hold the victim down initially, but he usually didn't get his hands so dirty. The hunt was Farfarello's, and so was the twisted art that spawned from it. Schuldig liked long range methods of killing, guns and mental attacks, but occasionally he added his own artistic touch. Occasionally he got a little too swept up in the red vortex that was Farfarello. Farfarello's mind careened about in deadly joyride fashion. One false move would demolish control. While the initial rush swept Schuldig along a rollercoaster high, coming down resembled bungee jumping with a non-elastic rope.

"You should be more careful."

"But it's fun Dad," Schuldig said with a laugh. He quickly stopped and cradled his head.

"And the side effects?" Brad said more softly.

"Fun outweighs them."

"Only while the fun lasts."

"It was fun then."

"Is it fun now?" Brad asked as he moved in from the doorway.

"My head hurts."

"Did you take something?" Brad sidestepped the prone German, and turned on the shower.

"Ja."

"What?"

"Don't worry, not the good stuff. I won't be passing out. It's not that bad," Schuldig replied, which Brad acknowledged with a nod. The precog stuck a washcloth under the spray. "Just a little carried away, that's all."

"You know better," Brad said firmly.

"Don't preach to me," Schuldig growled, "you're not…" Schuldig winced at his own overly loud voice.

"Not a telepath, no. Have I ever claimed to be? I do, however, know what you are capable of."

"Not the same."

"Retain more control around Farfarello. Don't get distracted."

"I'm not distracted" Schuldig quickly parried.

"And the last few days?"

"It's nothing."

"Schuldig," Brad sighed. He knelt down in front of the telepath, who had his head resting on his knees. Gently Brad tilted Schuldig's face up, and began wiping away the blood crusting his eyelashes together. He removed the hideously clashing yellow headband. "I think this one's ruined," Brad remarked.

"I have another one," Schuldig said. Headache in the beginning of recession, he opened his eyes. Drops of honey scrutinized him in return. Schuldig watched as the steam from the shower began to cover Brad's glasses. "You should get contacts."

"Glasses are easier."

"You hide behind them."

"I don't hide."

"You hide from me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Behind glasses, suits, work, the length of a desk, and those fucking mental shields," Schuldig snapped. "What if I said I was serious?"

"Schuldig…"

"I'm not drunk. What if I said I was serious, right now?"

"Serious about what?" Brad questioned as he leaned away.

"You know what I'm talking about! Don't assume that because I can't read your mind, I don't know anything. I'm trained to analyze people."

"And I strategize and plan. Outcomes and consequences. Focus and control."

"Screw control and consequences!"

"That's the kind of thinking that got you here, sitting on the bathroom floor," Brad stated calmly. "You need to be more aware of consequences."

"Telling my future, Herr Crawford?" Schuldig sneered.

"There is no future, only possibilities."

"And what 'possibility' bothers you about this," Schuldig hissed before hurling himself on top of the stunned precog.

Brad's head thumped against the tile floor, narrowly missing the toilet. Schuldig took advantage of the ensuing gasp, to snake his tongue in his captive's mouth before Brad could protest. The telepath ignored his remaining headache, as he gripped Brad's chin with one bloodstained hand. In an unconscious gesture, Schuldig mimicked his own previous captive state, but with a change of cast. He pinned the precog's wrists with a death grip, hoping that his leverage would hold out against the boxer's superior strength.

The kiss was hard and angry. Schuldig swept his tongue along the roof of Brad's mouth, his teeth, his gums; mapping and claiming with every stroke. He felt the rough pad of Brad's tongue along the smooth bottom of his, and hummed his appreciation. Brad was kissing him back. No matter what had been or would be said, or what was and wouldn't be; Brad was kissing him back. The past could be blurred and the future denied, but not the present. Schuldig pulled back slightly, sucking on Brad's bruised bottom lip.

"What could possibly be so wrong, Brad?" Schuldig's words were more breathed into Brad than spoken, as the telepath opened his eyes to stare at his captive's, hoping for something in return. A stray thought, a crack in the ever impressive shields, or even a word, anything that would let him in. Crawford closed his eyes, shutting Schuldig out, and turned his head. Eyes the color of dead leaves opened behind a barrier of translucent glass, and stared steadily at the base of the vanity. The voice that followed the action was crisp and level.

"Takatori is going to hurt you, and I have to let him." Schuldig jerked, as if struck, and levered his upper body off the oracle.

"Was?"

"Farfarello too."

"Brad…"

"It has to happen this way." Schuldig moved off Crawford completely, and sat with his back against the tub, his gaze fixed on the prostrate figure before him.

"What has to happen Brad?" the telepath asked in a voice not quite stable. "We're Schwarz, and you said; no we all agreed that we look out for each other!" Brad picked himself up the floor, and in an uncharacteristic move, hesitated.

"I… just be you, Schuldig. Play your games. I won't stop you." Brad made a move towards the door, but the telepath grabbed him by the shoulder and wheeled him around.

"Damn right you won't. What's going on? Hell if I'm going to listen to you, if you don't have my back. Tell me what's happening!" Schuldig near screamed, forcing eye contract; once again trying to find some kind of sign within the sealed mind before him.

"Do you trust me with Schwarz, Schuldig?" Crawford asked as he held the telepath's gaze.

"You're such a bastard, Crawford."

"Do you trust me to plan for Schwarz?"

"Ich…" Crawford brushed the back of his hand along the redhead's jaw line, and cupped his chin in a soothing gesture.

"Do you trust me?"

"Ja."

"Then play your games."

"With who? What target?"

"Weiss."

End Chapter

What is it with this story and short chapters? Every chapter demands to end much sooner than I originally wanted. Oh well, maybe in the end it will seem coherent or something like that. See everyone next time.

Solaras


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine

**Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delay, I've been working like crazy.

Touching base with the anime in this chapter by incorporating a few scenes and dialogue from the anime; in this case episode 12 dubbed by Sakura Anime Productions. From now on and until we reach the end, the story will be touching base with the anime every now and then.

Personal Note: I hate to quote so heavily, and will probably avoid it in the future, but my alternative track for this chapter didn't get Shu's mindset across as well without the dialogue from the anime. It paces better this way, even though I hate getting sucked into this dialogue prop.

PN2: I'm not even sure I like this chapter, but as long as it's been, I'm going to suck it up and post. This is only a temporary lull. The next one will be better.

**Review Responses: **

**xChristabelx** - I don't know about the soon part sheepish grin but I will continue to update. Glad you like the story!

**etrenoir** - continuing to grin sheepishly see above response… I'm the slowest author ever, but I hope you will check back from time to time. :)

-telepathy- aka communicating as in intentionally projecting

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind as in not intentionally projecting (Schuldig is eavesdropping)

**German Words:**

Großmutter – Grandmother

Kätzchen - kitten

**Chapter Twelve:**

Why couldn't Crawford just come out and say it? What was so hard about saying something like, 'Schuldig, don't go there on this day, or you will suffer a horrible fate?' But no, it was always something like, 'Schuldig, watch out for the letter P,' 'Schuldig, be wary of left turns,' or 'Schuldig, you shouldn't do that.' The man couldn't just say, 'Schuldig don't lean back in your chair, Farfarello is about to slam a knife in front of you,' or more importantly, 'Schuldig, Takatori is going to hurt you by flaying you alive, and I have to let him because I'm an anal-retentive bastard.' Instead Brad Crawford chose to say cryptic messages like, 'Takatori is going to hurt you, and I have to let him.'

"What the hell is going on in his head?" Schuldig asked himself for the millionth time, as he drove aimlessly around Tokyo in his red sports car. After his tussle with Brad the night before, the telepath decided to be scarce for awhile. He may trust Brad, but that doesn't mean he _trusts_ him.

"Bastard, can't let anyone else in on the joke. Never know what's going on till it's happened." If there was one thing Brad could be trusted to do, it was too looked after his plan of the future. Said plan had always been the plan for all of Schwarz; hence, Brad would look out for Schwarz, but what was beyond that? What did Brad plan after the fall of Estet?

"What does he want?!" Schuldig yelled in his frustration.

/What's wrong with that guy?/ Schuldig caught the stray thought from the man in the vehicle next to him, and glared in the balding Japanese man's direction. He wanted to crush the little insect's mind out of existence, but didn't want to risk scratching the paint on his car in an accident. Road rage kills, but more importantly causes nice red cars to become not so nice hunks of expensive junk.

Schuldig sighed. He hated Japan with all its little Japanese people, jam-packed Japanese buildings, congested Japanese streets, strange Japanese food, and stupid Japanese thoughts. What he wouldn't give for a good German beer in a good German pub; hell he'd settle for Europe, perhaps a trip to Amsterdam and a few days spent in a good "coffee" house. He could smoke until the voices faded into the background and just drift; exactly the kind of thing Crawford would yell at him for.

"Stupid Brad, stupid Großmutter, stupid Japan," grumbled Schuldig, "I should just go get really drunk, find a willing fuck, and just forget the whole Brad _thing_. Leave him to play his future hopscotch and go paint the town with Farfarello, maybe fuck Farfarello while I'm at it. Bet that'd be a kinky party. I should…/Dinner with Oka and her _parents_/…" Schuldig paused in his tirade upon catching a stray thought from a familiar mind. "Well what do we have here? The littlest kätzchen is out to play delivery boy." Schuldig hit the gas in order to pull closer to the pink motorbike ahead of him, "and with the boss's daughter no less. Just what I need, new toys, and Brad even said I could have them."

Schuldig's bad mood instantly lifted at the prospect of playing with Bombay and his screwed up family, the head of which Schuldig disliked immensely. Crawford had ordered Schuldig to leave Takatori's mind alone, for now, but had said nothing about the offspring. Little Omi and Oka's budding incestuous relationship was just too good to pass up. Schuldig thought of all the trouble and angst he could stir up and shuddered with devious delight. The Takatori clan was a meddling telepath's wet dream, and here the two most naïve of the lot were, just begging to be manipulated. The stage had been set, and all Schuldig needed to do was feed the players a few lines. He didn't even have to lie to them! The truth itself would create so much heart wrenching agony that Schuldig would be riding the equivalent of a mental orgasm for days; of course, there's no fun in just telling the truth. The game would be so much sweeter with a few more plot twists; it would be just like honey: smoke and confuse the bees and reap the rewards.

Schuldig followed the young couple to their destination, and then drove on around the corner. He tracked their minds as they entered the building, listening to their conversation, invading their thoughts: Omi with his dark and guilty secret prowling the depths of his mind coupled with innocent affection, and Oka with her craving for attention and unpolluted devotion. Schuldig slithered silently through their pretty thoughts. Gently he brushed against an image, or ever so lightly cradled an idea as if he moved though a china shop. Carefully he sifted through the two lovely youthful minds looking for what would hurt the most. What fears and doubts hid beneath the sugary exterior: loneliness, abandonment, shame; for soon, oh so soon, Schuldig would rend their world asunder. He would take all that they loved and twist it into something vile. He would turn pretty little thoughts into great raging rivers of pain, and Schuldig would drink it all in like the finest wine or the best German beer.

Eager to let his game begin and let the drama unfold, Schuldig left his car and walked to a tree across the street from where Bombay parked. A good game of mental chess with disposable pawns was exactly what Schuldig needed to relieve all the stress he'd acquired from his not-so-fun-after-all game with Brad. Schuldig watched as his first little playmate came out of the building and onto the playing field.

"I can't win. Oka's so pushy," mumbled Omi to himself.

"Isn't she," replied Schuldig to Omi's startled puzzlement.

"Who is it?" Omi queried to the seemingly empty road.

"Me," Schuldig said as he slid around the tree trunk, enjoying the wary edge in the boy's mind.

"You are?!"

"It's good to be young," Schuldig sighed with a fake longing. His eyes rolled skyward in a wistful motion, closed them briefly, and then opened them to pin his prey with a piercing stare that walked a fine line between knowing and lecherous. "But killing two of your older brothers," he continued mockingly, "and then going on a date with Oka is pretty carefree. You've fallen in love with Oka, haven't you?" Schuldig smirked as the boy's thoughts surged. Plans were formed and discarded, the cool calm of a trained assassin giving way to a building anger, and all through his mind the answer echoed. "Inside you've nodded yes." Schuldig could feel Omi's thoughts begin to fracture, but it wasn't enough. He needed the kid off balance. Doubt was good, but self-loathing tasted so much sweeter. The keystone to Omi's mind was simple; one word that lay beneath every thought. "You branded Masafumi and Hirofumi as evil and killed them both, but what about you? You're one of the Weiss. You're a sibling killing _murderer_."

/I'm a murderer?/ The dam was breaking. Schuldig could see it, feel it, taste it. Omi's self incrimination threatened to swamp him, and Schuldig pushed him harder towards the edge.

"That's right, or how else could you kill your blood brothers and commit murder after murder for Weiss? Look, the murderer in you is out for blood," Schuldig jeered and pointed as Omi's anger got the best of him. He grinned manically, as with a flick of the wrist Omi brandished a throwing dart in his direction. "What would Oka think if I told her you are a part of the assassination group Weiss?"

"Stop messing around!"

"He's angry, he's angry," Schuldig laughed as Omi raised the dart in a clear threat, "How frightening. I'd better retreat for now," Schuldig said as he jumped up into the tree. He gripped a low hanging branch and pulled himself into a seated position, all the while forcing the boy's mind not to notice him, which gave the impression that he'd vanished into thin air. -The game's just started. Look forward to the continuation.- Schuldig's parting words echoing in Omi's mind served to unnerve the boy even further.

"If Oka found out. If she found out. Shit!"

The telepath watched as Omi hurled the dart at the tree trunk beneath him. The little assassin's mind swirled in a whirlpool of self-doubt, loathing, and anger. Confusion and worry ran back and forth in Omi's mind with Oka at one pole and Weiss at the other. As Omi drove off on his disturbingly pink motorized cart, Schuldig leaned his slender frame against the tree and soaked it all in, and it was just what Schuldig needed. With so many juicy thoughts filling up his mind, so much tangy rage and passion, so much sweet anger and confusion; how could he possibly have room to think of one anal-retentive bastard? And the very best part of all was that the game had only begun.

End

**Endnotes:** This was going to be longer, but since I have a rhythm of short chapters which emphasize one or two scenes, I decided to divide this up. So as you may guess chapter 13 will also involve the goings on of ep. 12 of the anime. I won't quote dialogue quite so heavily in the future, but I wanted to set up Schuldig's mindset for his new found game. We all know what happened in the anime, so I don't want quote it back to you too much; maybe just a line here and there to spark the memory. The end of 12 may get quoted a bit (I'm hoping not) as a scene pacer, but it's more of what's happening with Shu and Farf in that scene than what everyone is saying. But that's for next time, so you'll just have to come back and see.

Solaras


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine

**Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

**Author's Notes: **Gasp Solaras attempts to explain the mysterious starry spacey room thing.

This chapter is dedicated to livejournal's **lauand **whose kind recommendation of my humble little story made my day, and also gave me the kick in the rear I needed to finish this chapter.

-telepathy- aka communicating as in intentionally projecting

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind as in not intentionally projecting (Schuldig is eavesdropping)

**German Words:**

Großmutter – Grandmother

Wenn ich Gott finde, werde ich es dir erzählen. – If I find God, I will tell you.

Komm und spiel. – Come and play.

Ja – Yes

Immer – Always

Huren – whores/harlots

Arschloch – asshole

Scheiße - shit

**Chapter Thirteen:**

_/Omi's real name is Takatori Mamoru./_

Schuldig could still hear his own voice circling around in Takatori's girl-spawn's head. Round and round it went, and when it stopped, Schuldig stirred it up again. Oka's mind writhed with turmoil; she wanted so badly to disbelieve all that she had been told. One strand of thoughts denied Omi as her brother, while the other condemned her love for her own blood. Schuldig lay stretched out on the living room couch, head tilted back over the arm rest, while he absorbed every drop of confusion, angst, and self recrimination. Idly he poked a memory of Omi, and watched colors surge behind his closed eyelids: pinks and yellows quickly twisting to reds and blacks. He wet his lips. Other people's pain always tasted sweet. Schuldig opened his eyes and found the yellow still there.

"You look high," said Farfarello. The pale man leaned over the prostrate Schuldig, almost nose to nose, and sniffed him. "You don't smell high. Where have you gone? Has your mind heard God?"

"Wenn ich Gott finde, werde ich es dir erzählen."

"What will you say to God?"

"Komm und spiel."

"Games with God?"

"Ja."

"Are you playing games now?" Farfarello asked and a lazy smirk twisted Schuldig's mouth.

"Immer."

"Who with?"

"Weiss."

"Do you bring them pain, Mastermind? Will you paint their world with red? Will you make them scream to God?"

"Do you want to know my Dante's demon? Do you want to know what it's like to control minds; to taste thoughts?" Schuldig arched his neck against the arm rest, his mouth open, and his eyes rolled back in his head. "Sweet, so very sweet, like honey. Today everything is honey." Schuldig focused his eyes on Farfarello, and let Oka's mind drift to the back of his; still monitored but no longer consumed. "Would you like to play, Farfarello, as I do; rend people from the inside?

"You come and play with me; it seems only fair that I come and play with you," Farfarello replied. "Show me, Guilty One, what it's like to hear like God."

"Come," Schuldig said, as his mind brushed Farfarello's, "first we need Nagi. There's something I need him to do."

Schuldig closed his eyes, and let his mind reach across the apartment. He found Nagi sitting in front of his computer, and poked into the Japanese boy's head. Briefly he was disoriented by the ordered strings of 0s and 1s. Computer code streamed around Schuldig; it blinked and combined to form images: computer screens, Nagi's room, Tot, Schwarz, the latest anime. Schuldig caught hold of a strand of code and from it shaped a door colored with space and stars.

-Come and play,- he taunted and left the door open. He felt Nagi's start at the sudden contact and his awareness of the door. Nagi's frustrated sigh rippled over his consciousness, like wind over a pond.

Schuldig opened a similar door for Farfarello and himself, and one by one they appeared in a spacial void occupied by themselves and those things closest to their physical forms: their clothes, Nagi's computer (desk and chair), and the living room couch. In this place set between their minds, Schwarz were at their most secure; even from the watchful eyes of Estet. Anchored by Crawford's mind and protected by his shields, the mental space was the closest Schuldig could get to being inside Brad's head. A small piece of each member of Schwarz resided deep in Brad's mind, linked and held together by strands of Schuldig's own power; familiar pathways that Schuldig could access to bring them all together.

The plans for the void had been set early in Schuldig's and Crawford's collaboration. Still bound to the halls of Rosenkreuz, the two began to stretch the limits of their abilities far beyond the expectations of their superiors. Schuldig remembered with perfect clarity the first time he had been drawn within Crawford's mind; a secondary ability that Schuldig helped him to perfect. Crawford's shields, that mental barrier that thwarted even the greatest telepaths, could be just as impenetrable from within as out. Inside Brad's mind had been ordered chaos that only a precognitive could begin to understand. The future spread before Schuldig in all directions, the lines twisting, overlapping, merging, and unmerging; like some colossal ever-changing roadmap. Schuldig remembered a feeling like what, he assumed, drowning must be like. Ripped and tossed in all directions, Schuldig had been at the mercy of the flow, and then there was a pull, the future fell away, and all was silence; silence like he remembered and dreamed of since he was four years old. Schuldig's mental image had stood hand in hand with Brad's in the calm and ordered center of Brad's mind, the eye of the storm, and all around them time flowed in its haphazard and undecided course.

From time to time, when the world lulled into quiet and Schuldig' thoughts were his own, he wondered if Crawford knew (planned) what he had given Schuldig that day; wondered if he knew that having tasted silence again, Schuldig would follow Brad anywhere. The telepath had seen the scope of Crawford's power, far underestimated by Estet, and had momentarily been awed, but it was the promise of silence, the dampening effect of those shields, that held him captivated. Crawford was Schuldig's salvation; the key to his continued sanity, and even if Brad hadn't realized it that day when his mind opened to the telepath, Schuldig was sure he was aware now. When Schuldig's thoughts were his own, sometimes he wondered what would happen when Crawford got what he wanted (whatever that may truly be), when the future was ordered to Brad's liking. Would he still have a place beside the Oracle? Schuldig knew what everyone wanted, where he stood with everyone, except the one mind that mattered, Brad.

"What do you want Schuldig?" asked a disgruntled Nagi. "I was in the middle of something."

"Your internet huren can wait. We are going to play a game with Weiss, and I need you to do some photo manipulation."

"Some of us have actual work to do Schuldig, and can't laze about on the couch all day. And I wasn't looking at porn! Though if you would actually learn more about computers, then maybe you could clear out the underside of your bed."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have anything to prop the bed up with. Besides the real thing is much better," Schuldig said and then draped himself along the back of Nagi's chair, his arms wrapping around the boy's shoulders. "Want me to show you just how cold your computer is," Schuldig hissed into Nagi's ear.

"Ick, get off!" Nagi screeched, and Schuldig laughed against the palm pushing his head back.

"How you spurn me Nagi," Schuldig sighed with mock defeat.

"You and whatever you're carrying."

"Hey, I am perfectly healthy!"

"And how about your hundreds of partners?"

"I have not slept with _that_ many people!" Schuldig protested.

"Everyone knows that when you have sex you're sleeping with everyone they've been with," Nagi said matter-of-factly.

"I knew Crawford should have taken you out of school before they pushed the repression of Sex Ed on you," groaned Schuldig.

"For he that soweth to hisflesh shall of theflesh reap corruption,"(1) Farfarello added.

"Eh?"

"God says you're a whore," supplied Nagi.

"Obviously I'm not appreciated here," Schuldig sniffed, "maybe I won't let you guys play in my little game after all."

"You are very appreciated," said Farfarello, "your whoring hurts God."

"Arschloch."

* * *

Oka struggled futilely against her bonds in the backseat of Schuldig's car. The rustling wisp-wisp of her clothes against the upholstery told Schuldig his captive was awake. Her voice was muffled, but her mind screamed. Sitting in the front seat Schuldig allowed himself to drift among her thoughts; buoyed by their intensity above the constant thrum of the city. Pain danced a tangy yellow-green across her thoughts. The rope pulled tight against the thin skin of her wrist, cut slightly further into her flesh with every movement. Panic flitted about in bursts of orange. Schuldig could see himself in her mind: the back of his head resting against the driver's seat, the edge of green coat, and his face in the rear-view mirror. His eyes moved restlessly under closed lids, while his mouth parted slightly to allow his tongue to run along his bottom lip. He tasted honey. Fear clogged her mind in brilliant cloying amber.

The evening grew late, but the people out searching for their night's entertainment didn't think twice (or even once) about the red car parked illegally along the side of the street in front of the hardware store. Across the city, Weiss scurried about in confusion and suspicion. Schuldig's game was coming to the climax, and he wondered how far it could be pushed. Would the Weiss kittens turn on one another? Anticipation, too, could be sweet.

A noise from outside himself, from outside his mind, and the honeyed thoughts of Oka and Weiss roused Schuldig back to the world around him. A bag rustled and the passenger car door opened, and a familiar red wind beat against his awareness, like a storm that had been seen in the distance arriving in full. Schuldig slit his eyes open; the blue irises glowing beneath low hanging lids.

"Should I be taking your keys, and saying, 'friends don't let friends drive dunk,'" asked Farfarello in an amused tone; a smirk lifting his lips as he glanced in the backseat. He settled himself in the passenger seat, and placed a plastic bag at his feat.

"Like I'd let you drive my car," said Schuldig, "I didn't think they offered Driver's Ed in the loony bin."

"It'd be hard to hold the wheel in a straitjacket."

"Should be hard to hold a knife too," jeered Schuldig, as he righted himself and turned the keys in the ignition. "Did you enjoy your shopping? As you can see," he said with a nod to the back, "I got everything on my grocery list." Farfarello nodded and nudged the bag with his foot. Inside Schuldig could make out spools of wire and some sort of hand held torch. "Metalworking?"

"Weapons customization," replied Farfarello. Schuldig laughed, and Oka's fear spiked. The telepath's eyes fluttered shut.

"Honey, Farfarello, today is all about honey."

"Crawford said to watch for bees," the Irishman said with a sinister smile and a sideways glance to his German companion.

"Then let's smoke them out." Schuldig shifted the car into gear and hit the gas. The tires squealed a high pitch sound, and the car jolted down the road. There was more rope in the trunk and a park full of trees ahead. Already swooning couples and dog walkers felt the urge to be somewhere else.

* * *

Brad Crawford saw the girl die a hundred times, a hundred different ways. In some visions Oka lived to be an old woman, in some she died young, and in one particularly bloody vision she crossed paths with a serial killer yet to exist. Choice, free will, action and reaction; the future could change with a single decision. One morning a man decides to try a different coffee shop and interrupts a robbery. One night a lady doesn't wait to be walked to her car, and she gets assaulted in the parking garage. No one saw _the_ future, and anyone who said differently lied. There were endless possible futures, endless possibilities. With every choice, the future changed. With every step forward, a moment in time would clear. A single decision made destroyed a hundred other possibilities. Every pivotal action further clarified the timeline. Inside Crawford's mind the future flowed in a continuous stream of images. Words and sounds appeared and disappeared: a snatch of conversation, a newspaper article, screams, and songs. Oka always died; the timing just changed.

Crawford watched as possibilities fell away; their paths ended with every tick of the clock: Schuldig's move here, Weiss's counter there, and Farfarello. Schuldig set the game, but Farfarello would take the match. Farfarello's bloodlust, barely contained by his veil of sanity, combined with Schuldig's dangerously whimsical nature almost always resulted in death. Oka would die because Schuldig was bored; bored and angry at Brad. Oka would die because Farfarello's demons demanded blood; blood to wash away the blood of the family his conscious mind pushed from thought. Oka would die because it would drive Takatori to careless madness; madness that would drive Estet's support away. Oka would die because of Brad Crawford; Brad Crawford who manipulated the endless stream of possibilities to obtain the future he sought. Crawford could not see _the_ future, but that would not stop him from creating it.

In the dim light of his office, Brad opened his eyes. The computer light glinted off the pair of glasses sitting on the desk. The only remaining possibility glimmered gold in his mind. For the next few minutes the future of a small group of people, in a park several miles away, came into focus. The events that would come to pass in the days to come adjusted around the facts taking place. Brad could see Schuldig move to reload, could see Farfarello move to cover him, and Weiss move to flank them. He could see the storm brewing in Farfarello's yellow eye. If he studied the images enough, he could probably even pinpoint the moment when Farfarello's thoughts bled into Schuldig's; when Schuldig knew that Oka's death was emanate, but he carried too much of Farfarello in his head to care. Oka would die, so that Takatori would die. Once the leash was off, and Estet gave Schwarz downtime while the Elders plotted, Schwarz would make their move. Brad Crawford decided long before Rosenkreuz came for him, that he would not be controlled, and by necessity neither would Schwarz.

Brad closed his eyes, and saw realization light upon Schuldig's face. He had followed Crawford for many years. Schuldig had given Brad his trust, even though the telepath could not get inside his mind, and from Schuldig it had been a hard won thing. Schuldig would not leave Schwarz, Brad knew for certain, as there was no where else to go. If threat of Estet didn't insure that, then Brad himself did. Schuldig needed the dampening effect of Crawford's mind. Rosenkreuz never thought Schuldig would live this long, much less with his sanity relatively intact. Brad knew he was the reason Schuldig was still alive, and Schuldig knew it as well. Schwarz were the tools Crawford had gathered to create his future; a future that had, without his conscious consent, stopped seeing them as dispensable. Tools had to be used, however, or there would be no freedom for any of them. Schuldig would never leave Crawford, Brad was sure, but he did wonder if Schuldig would forgive him; moreover, he wondered why and when he had started to care? When had he decided not to face the future alone?

* * *

The shock and pain ripping through Oka's mind hit Schuldig, before he even registered the sound of the gunshot. The red haze that resonated with Farfarello's mind lifted from Schuldig's thoughts, as even the Berserker recognized the folly in this particular action. Blackness seeped through Oka's thoughts; her last hopes and regrets choked under the smothering weight of oblivion. Schuldig pulled away from where he had been entangled in her thoughts for the last several days. He pushed and strained his little existing shielding to the forefront, in order to sever the link and block her mind before her death dragged him too far down. The last thoughts of a dying mind could be like the finest wine, but only when he was prepared to resist the shutting down of the brain. The colors of Oka's mind grayed; the firing of the synapses slowed. Thoughts of Omi filtered through, and then Schuldig could perceive no more. All his defenses were thrown against the death of her mind, and already the rest of the world (or what seemed like it) started barging in.

Farfarello grabbed him by the elbow, and dragged him in the direction of the car. The contact helped Schuldig to focus. The telepath resettled his mind as best he could. He sought out the minds of Weiss, but found them remaining near the emptiness that had been Oka. Through their eyes, he saw the girl's body. He saw the dead daughter of Takatori. Their boss's favorite child murdered.

_Takatori is going to hurt you, and I have to let him._

"Scheiße!"

End Chapter

End Notes: I know some of you have been wondering, so I'll tell you that Großmutter will probably return in either ch. 15 or 16. Hope to return soon with chapter 14. Until then thanks for stopping by.

Solaras

1 Bible, King James Version. Galatians 6.8


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine

**Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

**Author's Notes: **Beware Brad being a bit of a manipulative bastard, but other than that enjoy. And again sorry for the wait, but we all know I'm a terrible author. sigh

**Review Responses:**

**Brenn – **Thanks again for the German corrections. As you may have noticed, I know nothing about German. And yes, Oka is annoying, but alas she's dead and I can't torture her anymore.

**etrenoir** – Thanks to you too for the German. I fail at life in that regard. I try to do my best with it, but I don't speak German. :( If you see anything else, please correct me. It's all a work in progress till the very end.

-telepathy- aka communicating as in intentionally projecting

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind as in not intentionally projecting (Schuldig is eavesdropping)

**German Words:**

Komm raus - come out

wo bist du – where are you

Arschloch - asshole

Verpiss dich – Fuck off (basically)

was auch immer- whatever

**Chapter Fourteen:**

"Crawford!"

"Crawford!" Schuldig yelled, as he shoved the door open and sent it crashing into the wall. Farfarello sidestepped the door's rebound, and entered the apartment behind the enraged telepath. Nagi, who had been watching TV from the couch, watched in confusion as Schuldig stormed past him and down the hall.

"What's he upset about?" asked Nagi. "Weren't you two going to go mess with Weiss?"

"Things didn't go as planned," said Farfarello, whose gaze followed Schuldig, as he first walked into the kitchen (from which came the sound of glass breaking) and then out again. "Someone died who shouldn't have."

_"Crawford! __Komm raus!_

"Both of you came back, so who could have died?"

"Oka," Farfarello said, and Nagi's face paled at the implications; an angry Takatori could turn into an angry Estet. "The little girl's death hurts God, but it may hurt Schwarz, as well."

"Crawford said nothing?" Nagi asked, and his gaze turned to the hallway.

_"__Crawford, __wo bist du__!"_

"Let's go out to dinner," said Farfarello. "They will be loud."

"Shouldn't we wait?"

_"__Crawford, sie arschloch!"_

"There's nothing for us to do, and they can get their own dinner," Farfarello said, but Nagi still hesitated. "Crawford will sort it out. His plans are his own."

"Fine," Nagi sighed. "Let's go to Yoshinoya, and you can fill me in on what happened; and since it's probably your fault, you can buy me gyudon."

**OOOOOOOO**

Sitting behind his desk, his elbows rested on the polished wood with his hands raised, and his entwined fingers lightly pressed underneath his nose and against his lips; Brad Crawford heard the front door close behind two of Schwarz's number. He could hear Schuldig's path of destruction through the apartment, and his increasingly vulgar language. Schuldig could speak several languages, and could pick words out of a native's head if he didn't, but he never immersed himself in them. Brad's accent was flawless, no matter the language, but Schuldig's words always seemed slightly off; and the less he focused, the more German bled in.

No matter the place, Schuldig stood out as a foreigner; even though, as a child (orphan, all of them in someway) of Rosenkruez, he owed no allegiance to any country. The busier the city, the more Schuldig stood out. The louder the minds, the more Schuldig screamed back. No record existed of 'Schuldig' being born in Germany, but Brad doubted the birth certificate, wherever it was, carried that name. 'Schuldig' was the word the telepath knew meant himself, just as German was the language he remembered speaking first. Schuldig kept the pieces of himself close, just as he kept bits and pieces of things to help him remember: ratty t-shirts, old CDs, the odd photo, presents from the rest of Schwarz; reminders of himself for himself. Although his stuff looked a mess, everything had a place. With every move, Schuldig demanded a chest-of-drawers with the same number of drawers; put his coffee mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet next to the sink; and put his pill bottles in the bathroom medicine cabinet, second shelf, same order, all labeled in German. For all the whirlwind that Schuldig was, swayed by a million thoughts from a million other minds, always flitting from here to there with the attention span of a gnat; there existed a streak of order to the chaos of Schuldig. And amongst all of Schuldig's collecting, there was Brad; a silent center, who knew the word 'Schuldig' when its owner forgot, and spoke German with a flawless tone.

The banging on the office door grew in intensity, as if the perpetrator sensed Brad rising from his chair. Unlocking and opening the door, Crawford dodged the fist that flew through the opening. He caught Schuldig's wrist in a bruising grip and wrenched his arm behind his back. Heedless of the pain, Schuldig's other arm came around to finish what the other had started, but Crawford knew Schuldig's next move before it came. With both arms restrained, Crawford pushed a thrashing Schuldig into the wall, trapping his legs with his own. Schuldig struggled and cursed, and Brad held him crushed to the wall until, realizing the futility of fighting a precog without the rare element of surprise, Schuldig stilled; his mouth an angry line and breathing rapidly through his nose.

"You're a bastard," Schuldig said with thinly veiled rage.

"Perhaps," Brad replied calmly

"You could've said something."

"I did."

"You could've been more specific," Schuldig hissed.

"Why are you angry, Schuldig?" Brad asked against Schuldig's ear. "Surely, you don't care if she's dead."

"Of course not," Schuldig snarled, twisting and failing to head-butt Crawford. "The whiny bitch can roast in hell along with her fat letch of a father!"

"Then why?"

"Takatori's going to be out for blood over this. Ours! And the first call he's going to make will be to Estet. They're going to decide that we're complete fuck-ups, who jeopardized their Japanese contact, and let Takatori rip our balls off through our throats! What do you think, I'm upset over!"

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'm fucking tired of you saying that!" Schuldig yelled, and started pushing back against Crawford and yanking at his arms. Brad tightened his grip, feeling bones grind, and rested his forehead against the back of Schuldig's head, nose buried in his hair. Mind open just enough, Brad encircled the telepath's mind with his own shields. Schuldig sagged against him, mouth open in a silent gasp. Brad could feel Schuldig's consciousness, strange and familiar, just outside his own; so close, he could reach out and pull him in completely and leave Schuldig's body, with it's poor shielding, an empty shell. Distracted, Brad breathed in the smell of Schuldig's shampoo and left him in his own head, shielded and protected, but whole.

"Trust me," Brad said quietly, but behind the wall that still separated their thoughts, the words sound differently. _Need me_. "Let him hit you and bruise you. Let him grow tired and emotional. Make him weak and vulnerable, and I swear I'll make sure he dies. He'll die and Estet won't look twice at us."

"I hate you," Schuldig breathed, and something twisted painfully in Brad's chest.

"Trust me," he said more firmly.

"I fucking hate you."

"I know."

"I really do."

"Trust me."

"Ja."

**OOOOOOOO**

The world tilted and spun in sideways revolutions. The floor replaced the ceiling; a tightly woven green carpet, office grade. Today Schuldig remembered an almost forgotten lesson: when hitting the floor, the floor hits back. Takatori had started his enraged beating on Farfarello, who had been more annoyed than pained by anything bruised or broken. The swings, when they came, were less severe and more tired for Schuldig. The last swing of the golf club, however, fueled by a deep reserve of grief and anger, had slammed into the side of Schuldig's head.

Schuldig knew well the speed with which time could move; the fleeting seconds that raced by and into eternity. He had chased time, moved faster and easier, and watched as time itself seemed to slow for his opponent. Schuldig had lost time as well, surfacing from the swell of minds beyond his own to find the day long gone. Rare, however, was the slow drag of time.

The cold curve of metal pressed itself into Schuldig's cheek, just missing his temple. His flesh dented and remolded around the foreign object. The unyielding bone, forced to give ground, cracked. Time, it seemed, had forgotten Schuldig. Instead of carrying him along at his usual breakneck speed, time left the telepath behind. The split-second of contact dragged into forever, as the clubhead dragged along his cheek. The flesh tore in the wake of contact. The layers of skin ripped and separated, followed by red moisture beading and seeping.

Schuldig's neck turned to the side, and his spine released a sharp cracking noise. Time unfroze. His body twisted to follow the path of the club, and as Schuldig's knees left the ground; his face replaced them. Nose pressed into the coarse olive weave, Schuldig's only semi-coherent thought (he presumes it's his) was how badly his coat must clash.

Supported by his right arm, the one not busy forming bruised knots to match his face, Schuldig levered himself up. Takatori's mouth was moving, but Schuldig couldn't catch the words. He blinked, again, and once more, but all he heard was roaring: too many thoughts, too many voices, streamed into his mind. Disoriented, the white noise threatened to drown him. Schuldig closed his eyes, and tried to pull away from the dizzying nausea, tried to float above the clamor in his head. Thoughts, words not his own, formed and surged out of the noise to claw at him, pierce and divide his consciousness.

Eyes open, Schuldig sought out Brad. The club came down again, but he didn't feel the hit. Vibrations shook him, and he managed to focus on Nagi. The club struck again, but once more just vibrations, like someone pounding the other side of an invisible wall. When the club ceased to return, Schuldig slid his gaze away from Nagi; his head drunkenly following the roll of his eyes. Crawford stared back from the other side of the raised golf club. He was speaking, his mouth moving, to Takatori who still gripped the club, but he watched Schuldig. He shook his head at something, and refocused his gaze on Takatori.

Schuldig heard none of the conversation, and couldn't focus enough to pick their minds; but from the tilt of Brad's head and the slant of his eyes, Crawford was using his own brand of manipulation to sway Takatori to a new viewpoint, soft words with sharp intent. Schuldig watched as king and pawn traded places in this game of human chess. Crawford's calm and control would seem even more rational in the face of Takatori's grief muddled mind. The would-be king released the club, and balled his fists. Under Crawford's thin smile, Takatori fled the room. Outside the door, he gestured violently, and several 'suits' jumped to follow him or hurry ahead.

Closing his eyes, Schuldig let his head fall back. He tried again to let the invading thoughts drift into useless noise, and to collect himself above it all. A hand cupped the back of his head, and he was alone in his head. It wasn't the 'Symphony,' as there was no background noise either. There were no thoughts at all, save his own. Silence. Schuldig opened his eyes, and looked through glass into the amber eyes of Brad. For once, Schuldig was sure, the other man hid nothing. His mouth remained twisted in an amused smile, and his eyes shone with malicious triumph.

"Schuldig," he said, "well done. As they say, kings to you and Farfarello."

"Checkmate," replied Schuldig hoarsely.

"For this match. Now we sit and watch the final fatal moves."

"I still hate you, Crawford."

"I know," Brad said. His smile softened into something less sinister. -But you still need me.- Schuldig narrowed his eyes, but didn't protest when Crawford helped him off the floor. The hand on the back of his head slid down his back and under his arm. Crawford slung Schuldig's other arm around his neck. "Nagi, you can drive home."

"Gott, I'm going to die after all," Schuldig rasped.

"I drive better than you do, Schuldig," said Nagi, as Crawford's car keys lifted out of his coat pocket and floated to Nagi's hand.

"Farfarello?" Crawford asked, glancing behind him. "All intact?"

"Of course," Farfarello replied, "Takatori is but a sheep among us wolves."

"Easy for you to say, psychotic nut job," sneered Schuldig.

"Not my fault you're a bleeder."

"I could kill you with my brain, you deranged blender."

"Try it."

"I'm not carrying either of your corpses," interjected Nagi.

"Neither will I," said Brad, intentionally jarring Schuldig, who gripped his head.

"Rain check," moaned Schuldig.

"The good pills tonight, I should think," said Brad.

"I'd rather not be unconscious, when Takatori comes and kills me," grumbled Schuldig.

"Schuldig."

"Verpiss dich."

"Schuldig, trust me."

"Was auch immer," Schuldig replied, but tightened his hold on Brad and received an echo from the arm around him. His body ached, but his mind was quiet.

**End Chapter**

**End Notes:**

I had some trouble with this chapter, but I think it came out well. What do you all think? Thanks for stopping by. :)

Solaras


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